


The Stardust Prince

by TheTrickyOwl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Implied Torture, M/M, Mute Castiel, Peasant Sam, Prince Gabriel, Squire Castiel, Stable Boy Dean, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 47,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrickyOwl/pseuds/TheTrickyOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester is the owner of a humble village bookshop, and when his newest customer turns out to be a charming golden-eyed Prince who beckons him to the castle with promises of gold in exchange for a story read every night, his life takes a turn that no book in his shop could ever compare to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

It was early dusk, with the skies painted in steaks of violet and orange, and the soft chill of autumn breeze wafting in through the rickety wooden walls of the humble bookshop, when Sam Winchester first laid eyes upon the Prince.

The scuffle of hooves on the dirt road just outside had done little to pull Sam’s attentions away from the book clasped so tightly in his hand. He stood, feet balanced high on a step of his rickety wooden ladder, elbows rested on a dusty bookshelf while his nose was nestled between the musty-scented pages. His hazel eyes moved slowly, consuming each word, devouring the story line by written line until it was all he could see and feel and breathe; lost in a world unlike any he’d ever ventured to before. There was no telling how long he’d been like this, perched high above the floor, drowning in the painted words of storytellers long dead until the creak of the door would tear him away, and force him to climb down and tend to a customer.

There hadn’t been one for most of the night, and Sam should most certainly have not been so happy about it. Business was grave in this part of the village. No one read books anymore; there was no time. Not with the winter approaching, and crops needing to be harvested before the bitter cold choked the very life from them. Sam’s bookshop was hardly bringing in enough money to put food on the table for his family, but it was all he could do. His elder brother Dean was a simple stable boy, and his Uncle Bobby and Aunt Ellen ran a small Inn not down the road. Business was slow for the lot of them, and the last thing Sam wanted was to go another long winter with a growling belly.

But, Gods help him, the alone time he was receiving was a gift. So much time to breathe, to read. He was hardly ever granted such things. 

Sam had just begun climbing down from the ladder when the Prince swept in, soundless, without so much as an announcement or knock on the door. His long olive green cloak billowed out behind him, its ends covered in a faint coating of dust that had been kicked up from the road outside. The Prince was smaller than Sam had ever imagined him, but in no way delicate, his body lean and strong and sturdy. He had silken hair pushed away from his face to fall in soft waves on the back of his neck, the strands glimmering gold in the fading sunlight. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, no, but there was something about the arrogant jut of his angular jaw, the way his eyebrows quirked with mischief and the manner in which his eyes flashed like a beam of light caught on a bottle of honey, that made him downright beautiful to admire.

If Sam could recall correctly, the Prince’s name was Gabriel.

He’d brought two guards with him, massive men donned in sturdy armour fashioned out of glistening silver chainmail, forged plates of strong steel, and a quilted leather and fabric vest dyed blue and stitched with silver. They stood, still and silent on either side of the door, hard gazes set straight ahead while gloved hands clasped tightly around the hilts of long, vicious swords.

And that’s when Sam had all but stumbled down the last few ladders steps, and fell to his knees rather gracelessly before the Prince, his head bowed and eyes cast to the aged floorboards, which he couldn’t help but notice were layered with dust.

Gods help him, why hadn’t he swept?

“I’m looking for the owner of this establishment.” He heard Gabriel say in a crisp, velvet voice.

Sam felt himself tremble. He dared not look up, but instead lifted his hand. “That… would be me, my Prince.”

“You? You’re but a boy.”

Sam kept his eyes on the floor. “I became a man of nineteen in the spring, my Prince. My father owned this shop, and passed it onto me after my mother’s death.”

There was a long pause, and then the approach of footsteps, before a pair of sturdy boiled leather boots appeared in Sam’s line of vision. They were good quality, dark, and fastened with a silver buckle that was probably worth more than Sam’s entire wardrobe combined. He swallowed hard, unsure if the Prince’s sudden proximity was entirely a good thing.

“Stand,” Gabriel murmured softly.

And stand Sam did, rising up to his full height, which towered straight over the Prince, much like it did everyone else. Those shockingly golden eyes followed Sam all the way up, a slight smirk curling on Gabriel’s soft lips when their gazes finally met.

“My, my, you’re a big one.” He said.

Sam shifted his weight to his other foot, feeling entirely too tall, too lanky, and much too grubby to be in the presence of this man. He hadn’t shaved in days, his clothes were dusty from work and faded from the sun; a complete contrast from the fresh-faced Prince before him, donned in shimmering gold and luxurious fabrics from across the seas. 

“You realize that it is against the law for a commoner to look down upon royalty?” Gabriel drawled up at him, amusement ringing like a bell in his voice.

“U-um…” Sam wrung his hands nervously together. “Would you rather I get back on my knees, my Prince?”

Something wicked twinkled in those eyes. “I doubt this is the time and place, but I’ll keep your offer in mind for when my guard dogs are not at my side.”

Sam caught the hidden intention in that remark, and felt the kiss of heat bloom on his cheeks. There was no word he could utter that would sound in the least bit intelligent as a response to that, so he did well to keep his mouth firmly shut. He took one step aside to allow Gabriel to pass, and watched as he moved slowly through the bookshop, fingertips skimming over the aged leather spines of books lined row by row on the shelves.

“I’m here looking for a book,” Gabriel said after a moment.

“A book, my Prince?” Sam tilted his head.

“This is a bookshop isn’t it?”

“…Yes.”

Gabriel turned gracefully on his heel and looked at him like he was a loon. “Then what else would I be here for?”

Sam did best to hold back the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course. My mistake.” He came forward, then, and gestured to the shelves surrounding them. “Is there any book you have in mind, my Prince?”

“It is for my brother Michael.” The Prince said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

Who hasn’t? Prince Michael was the eldest brother in the royal family, and the heir to the throne. Sam only recalled ever seeing him once in his life, back when he was a boy of nine. Michael had been out for a hunt in the woods, and Sam had been perched up in an old oak tree with a book. He’d only seen Michael from afar, so dark and strikingly handsome upon his chestnut steed. With quiver upon his back and bow in his hand, he’d carried himself with pride, dignity, and strength. Michael had only been a boy of sixteen, then. Sam could only imagine what he was like now.

“My brother enjoys more complicated tales,” Gabriel stated. “He’s got a stubborn mind, and won’t delve into any book unless it causes him to think, to wonder. Have you any like that?”

Sam pondered a moment with a click of his jaw, and then moved down a narrow aisle between the shelves. He ran his hands along the book spines, murmuring their titles as he searched, eyes flitting back and forth. And then he pulled one out from its cramped little space; a thick book bound in aged red leather, its pages crackled from years of use. He came forward with it, using the sleeve of his tunic to wipe the dust from the cover.

“I would recommend this one, my Prince.”

Gabriel peered down at it. “What is it?”

“Age of Dragons by Chuck Shurley. One of my favourite writers, my Prince. This book is as complex as they come; speaking of magic and murder, slayers and slaves, with dragons from far across the nine realms.” Sam smiled fondly at the book. “It took me many weeks to finish this. Whenever I put the book down, I kept having to go back a chapter because I could hardly recall what I had read beforehand. It’s a tightly-knit web of complexities that all unravels in the end. I believe Prince Michael would enjoy it greatly.”

Gabriel still did not take the book, gazing up at Sam with a slight hint of a smile that almost looked fond. “Read me a passage. I’d like to know if you speak the truth.”

Sam wet his lips nervously, and fumbled with opening the book. He carefully turned the pages, mindful of their fragility, seeking out the best possible spot to read from. When he did, he stared down at the words, so carefully scribbled across the page; words he himself had read once before. He could feel the Prince’s honey coloured eyes on him, watching, waiting, though Sam doubted it was patiently.

Softly, clearly, he began to read. “…truth be told, dragons were perilously proud creatures, and Ecklemon the Conqueror knew not to handle one without upmost respect and caution. Legend told that once, not so long ago, in a land of ice, where the sun blazed black and the shrieks of the maimed caused the clouds in the skies to tremble with fear, a mighty warlord came toe to toe with a dragon, whose scales were that of stone, blending him into the mountainside as though he was birthed from the rock and earth. The warlord was praised throughout the realms as the finest dragon slayer, and when he came upon the mountainside where the stone dragon slept, he did not wake it. He did not bow, nor did he greet the dragon as respective opponent, as tradition stated. No, he simply took up his sword, and attempted to drive it into the dragon’s skull in one swift blow. The blade shattered upon impact, and the dragon woke, raring its head with a great icy roar, before devouring the warlord in one bite. T’was not a fair fight at all. Ecklemon took this story to heart as he grew from fragile boy to a gallant warrior, and recited the rule to himself whenever he was faced with challenge: An honourable warrior greets his opponent like friend, for in the battle of life and death, we all stand on the same level ground. We are all equal.”

When Sam finished, and lifted his eyes to look upon Gabriel once more, he couldn’t help but take note of how the Prince was regarding him, as though seeing Sam for the very first time. His eyes were thoughtful, lips still curled upward in that fond smile. Sam could feel his mouth go dry, and his heartbeat pick up in his breast.

“I’ll take it.” Gabriel finally said, reaching out and plucking the book from Sam’s hands. 

Sam nodded, and moved over to the front desk. He wasn’t sure whether or not the Prince would be paying for his book. He never had royalty in his shop before. Gabriel could very well stroll right out of here with it, and there wasn’t a single thing anyone could do about it. But then Sam heard a small clatter on the wooden desk, and looked down to see three coins placed in front of him.

Three… gold coins.

Gold.

“M-my Prince!” Sam nearly fell over, gathering the coins in his large palm and holding them out. “This is too much.”

Far too much, Sam thought. The books only cost two coppers each. These coins would be enough to feed his family for nearly a month. He couldn’t possibly take them. Not from royalty. He was no cheat.

But as Gabriel swept toward the door, his clock dragging along the floorboards and book tucked snugly under the crook of his arm, he cast one last smile in Sam’s direction, and then disappeared into the darkening evening, his two guards following close behind him.

Sam stared down at the gold coins until the sounds of galloping hooves faded away into silence.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The Prince returned the very next day, when Dean had come by the bookshop to fix the wooden sign, which had been knocked from its rusted hinges by the merciless autumn wind during the night. Sam had been outside, holding the ladder still as his older brother worked at getting the sign firmly back into place on the old iron rod, the wind whipping through his shaggy hair and woollen tunic. Gabriel had trotted in on a magnificent young stallion with a sleek coat the colour of stormy skies, speckled in whites and greys, donned in a crimson red cloak trimmed in wolf’s fur to keep him warm in the bitter morning chill. He had only one guard with him this time, and smiled down at Sam when he got close, his speckled horse snorting and shuffling restlessly.

Sam had to let go of the ladder to drop to his knees before him, which earned him a rightful yelp from his older brother when the rickety old ladder trembled unsteadily beneath him.

“Sam! What the hell!” Dean growled down at him. “You’re going to make me break my damn neck.”

Sam cleared his throat loudly, eyes cast down at the dirt. “We have company.”

“Great Gods, I don’t care!” The ladder wobbled dangerously at Sam’s side. “Get your hands back on the damn thing or I’m going to make sure to land on you when I come tumbling down.”

Sam heard the Prince snicker in amusement, and risked a brief glance upward to see him grinning over at his guard. “Charming one, isn’t he?”

“Charming is not the word I would use, my Prince.” The guard sneered, his icy eyes shooting daggers up at Dean. He snapped at him. “Get down from there, boy! And bow to your Prince!”

Dean all but scrambled down off the ladder, the damn thing tipping over and nearly taking out the front shop window in the process. A great plume of dust rose up from the ground when the weight of the ladder crashed down upon it, and Sam grunted as his older brother collapsed to his knees next to him.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was the Prince?” Dean hissed at him under his breath.

“I told you we had company. I didn’t think you needed an invitation to be respectful to someone.” Sam bit back.

“You could have hinted at least!”

“Enough!” The guard roared.

“Ease yourself, Balthazar.” The Prince clicked his tongue. “Both of you, on your feet. None of this unnecessary bowing and grovelling nonsense. I’m not Michael.”

Sam did as ordered, lifting himself off the ground, all the while wiping dust from his dark trousers. He gazed up at the Prince, and he couldn’t help but notice how much lovelier he looked in the rays of early morning light, with the deep red of his cloak making the gold of his eyes all the more brighter. His speckled stallion nicked and hoofed at the ground.

“Don’t mind my Captain of the Guard, boys. He’s a right grumpy one when he hasn’t had a romp in the brothels for a while.” Gabriel smirked, and dismounted his ride in one graceful swoop. He slipped his leather riding gloves off, all the while gazing up at Sam. “So good to see you again.”

Sam swallowed hard. “And to you as well, my Prince.”

“Again?” Dean stared between them, confusion etched deeply into his handsome features. “You’ve met before?”

“Once.” Gabriel said dismissively. “Last night.”

“You never told me you met the Prince.” Dean narrowed olive green eyes at his young brother. 

“You were asleep by the time I got home.” Sam frowned.

“And you couldn’t mention it over breakfast this morning?” 

Gabriel released an exasperated breath. “If we’re all done clucking about like a couple of hens, I would like to get to the reason as to why I am here.” He met Sam’s eyes. “I’ve come to purchase another book.” 

“Another, my Prince?” Sam tilted his head. “Forgive my asking, but did Prince Michael not enjoy the one I recommended last night?”

“No, no, no, nothing like that.” The Prince flicked his hand. “He has his book, and he’s had his damn nose in the thing since it was placed in his hands. I’ve come to find a book for my other brother Lucifer.”

The very name sent a sharp chill coursing through Sam’s body. Prince Lucifer was certainly a man Sam knew well. He frequented the village often with a group of his most loyal entourage, visiting the brothels and the taverns in the long hours of the night, hooting and hollering and making an outright mockery of their peaceful town. Sam had witnessed him and his men bullying the poor, tricking them with false charm and twisted words, tossing a handful of gold into the mud and laughing as the villagers practically slaughtered each other in order to get to it. 

Lucifer was a vile, arrogant man who despised anyone beneath him, the second born Prince in the royal family. The Silver-Tongued Viper, the people called him. Perhaps he was the way he was because he would never be King one day. Perhaps he was causing ruin to the kingdom, knowing full-well that it was Michael’s duty to clean up the mess afterward.

If there was a God, Lucifer was the devil.

The fact that Prince Gabriel was in any way related to him boggled Sam’s mind.

“Pardon me for saying so, my Prince, but your brother hardly seems the reading type.” Sam said, crossing strong arms across his broad chest.

“He can be, if it entertains him enough.” The Prince said, cool wind catching under his cloak and causing it to ripple outward. “The book needs to be short, to the point, and not too complex. He needs to be entertained, or he becomes bored and gives up.”

Sam thought a moment, and then inclined his head. “I believe I may have something.”

When he turned and strode into his bookshop, Gabriel followed without hesitation while Dean and Balthazar remained outside. The Prince leaned comfortably on the front desk, and helped himself to an autumn peach from the clay bowl there, sinking his teeth into the tender, sweet flesh. Sam disappeared into the bookshelves, searching, despite the twisting in his gut for providing Prince Lucifer with any of his precious books. He did not deserve to place his filthy hands upon any of them.

It didn’t take much searching to find a book that met all of Prince Gabriel’s requirements. Rising up on the very tips of his toes, Sam plucked it from the very top shelf, its faded black leather cover bound tightly over a short stack of crisp pages. Sam only read this book once, back when he was a mere boy. 

“This should do it,” Sam announced as he returned to the front of the shop.

Gabriel was mid-bite when he leaned in and took a good look at the book Sam presented, a clear trickle of peach juice running from his soft lips and down his sharp chin. Sam followed it with his eyes as it ran a line from the Prince’s chin and down the elegant column of his pale throat. He swallowed, suddenly wondering what it would be like to reach out and brush the droplet away with the backs of his fingers, or to simply lean in and catch it with his lips, suckling away the sweetness with his tongue and tasting the flavour of the Prince’s skin along with it.

He looked away quickly.

“The King’s Fool, by Carver Edlund.” The Prince said, reading the title aloud. He glanced up at Sam, and swallowed his bite of peach. “Interesting title.”

“It’s a rather dark little story, told entirely in rhyming verse.” Sam nodded with a forced smile. “I’m… sure Prince Lucifer will enjoy it.”

Gabriel eyed him coolly. “You don’t like him much, do you?” 

Sam was caught off guard. “U-um…”

“It wouldn’t surprise me, you know. Considering that he’s a complete ass, and that’s putting it pleasantly. The village people despise my brother.” Gabriel rested his elbows on the desk, and stared at the exposed pit inside his peach. 

“Forgive me, my Prince. I did not mean to make it seem as though I dislike your brother.”

“I’m not a fan of him, either.” Gabriel shrugged. “But he is my blood, and he is not so bad within the castle walls. He enjoys my company more than he enjoys Michael’s, that’s for certain. He taught me many things growing up.”

Sam’s brow furrowed deeply at the thought. “You turned out nothing like him.”

“Thank the Gods, eh?” Gabriel straightened, and tapped on the book cover. “Care to read me a passage? I like to know whether I am getting my money’s worth, after all.”

Sam nodded once, and flipped to a random page in the book, eyes skimming through the words for a decent part to start on.

“The royal feast was done; the King  
Sought some new sport to banish care,  
And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,  
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!  
Beg of me to spare your dear life,  
Go on, get to it, lets hear it loud!  
Or I’ll have to slice off your head,  
Speak now to me, address mine crowd!”  
The jester doffed his cap and bells,  
And stood the mocking court before;  
They could not see the bitter smile  
Behind the painted grin he wore.  
He bowed his head, and bent his knee  
Upon the Monarch's silken stool;  
His pleading voice arose: "O Lord,  
Be merciful to me, a fool!”

Sam stopped reading and tore his eyes from the page, only to see that same soft, astonished gaze directed at him. Gabriel was smiling, brighter this time, his eyes hooded and his chin rested in the palm of his hand. The look was soft, non-threatening, and yet Sam could feel himself being peeled open bit by bit, exposing his most vulnerable secrets to this other man.

“My Prince… you’re staring…” Sam shifted.

Gabriel’s smile only grew wider. “I am, aren’t I?” He straightened, then, and reached into his trouser pocket. The Prince took the little book from Sam’s hand, only to replace it with three more gold coins.

“Dearest Gods, my Prince, this is far too much.” Sam shook his head and slid the coins across the desk toward him. “Please, I cannot accept this.”

Gabriel clicked his tongue, tucking the book under his arm. “You’ll accept, and you’ll be thankful for it. That’s a command, by the way.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep back the protests that dared emerge. He nodded once, scooped up the money, and slipped them into his own pocket, where they clinked against the coins from the previous night. 

The Prince turned for the door, but paused before making a move to open it, turning to look at Sam over his shoulder. “By the way… I never did catch your name.”

“It’s Sam, my Prince. Sam Winchester.”

And that was it. The Prince swept out of the shop without another word, and Sam followed him out this time, watching with one shoulder rested against the wooden doorframe. Dean was still outside, the ladder having been put away, the bookshop sign hung properly in place. He gave Sam a curious glance from the tail of his eye, but asked no questions while Gabriel mounted his stallion. 

“Until next time, Sam Winchester.” The Prince said with softness, and took off at a gallop down the road, his horse kicking up great plumes of dust and dried leaves, his crimson cloak snapping in the wind like a flag.

Sam stared after him, even when his form disappeared from sight, and thought that next time could not come soon enough.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Three days passed, and Prince Gabriel made no return to the bookshop. 

Sam felt foolish, of course, for expressing any amount of sadness at that fact. Of course the Prince could not frequent the village every single day. What with balls, and tournaments, and grand feasts, and festivals to attend, what good was his little bookshop, or even his company, in comparison?

Tonight, while a threatening blanket of blackened clouds tumbled across the skies and blessed their dusty little village with a thunderous rainstorm, Sam sat quietly at the small dining table in his aunt’s Inn, staring down at the six gold pieces Gabriel had given to him. They glinted and glimmered in the dancing firelight from the hearth, reminding him all-too vividly of the Prince’s warm, golden eyes. 

The Inn was bustling tonight, any weary traveler out on the road seeking refuge under its roof from the relentless storm. The scent of his aunt’s spiced pumpkin soup, the buzz of chatter and laughter, the flash of lightning and rumble of thunderclaps invaded Sam’s senses. Seven rooms had been taken for the night, which was the most they’d gotten in terms of income in the past month.

Well, until now, that is. 

Sam plucked one of the gold coins from the table and examined it closely, turning it over and over in his fingers, watching as it caught the light. The scraping of a chair against the wooden floor jarred his senses, and he watched as Dean planted himself in the seat next to him, olive green eyes warily eyeing their surrounding guests.

“You might not want to have those things out, Sam.” Dean warned in a lowered voice. “Not everyday that these kinds of people are in the presence of gold.”

Sam frowned, having not considered it, and discretely dragged the mound of coins closer so he could shield them with his broad hand. He handed Dean one for him to look at as well. His brother held it carefully, an almost childlike awe swimming in his eyes, while the firelight danced across his long blonde lashes and his cheeks dusted with galaxies of freckles. 

“Wow…” His older brother breathed, balancing it at the center of his palm. “Do you realize how much these things can help us?”

“I do,” Sam still felt uneasy. “I just don’t feel as though I deserved them. They were just books, Dean. Old, used books. Not even my entire shop is worth one of these coins.”

“You fret over the stupidest things, sometimes.” Dean rolled the coin across the table, where it hit Sam’s hand and clattered against the wood. “So what if the Prince overpaid you? It’s not as though six gold coins mean anything to him. I bet he sleeps on a bed stuffed with coins.”

“I doubt that would be comfortable.”

“Not the point.” Dean sighed, pushing calloused fingers back through his short sandy hair. He leaned back in his seat and propped his boots on the table top. “Have you shown Uncle Bobby the coins, yet?”

Sam nodded. “He’s wary as well, but doesn’t want to question it. He believes we should never doubt any good fortune that comes our way. He wants to spend the money slowly, and only when we need it with the upcoming winter.”

Dean shrugged, his almost too-handsome face lighting up when their Aunt Ellen approached the table with two steaming bowls of her spiced pumpkin soup. She placed one before each of them, along with two cups of sweet apple wine, and tucked a stray strand of her thick hair behind her ear. She looked ragged with exhaustion, her age showing through the lines in her lovely face, but seemed happy with finally having something to do. A busy Innkeeper was a happy one, that’s what she always said.

“You boys need to eat up. Warm yourselves.” She reached over and ran slender fingers through Sam’s unkempt hair, fixing it with all the tenderness of a mother. 

Sam eased at the touches. “Thank you.”

“Dean, after you finish, I need you to go to the stables and make sure all our guests’ horses are fed and watered for the night. They want them strong for their departure at morning light.”

Dean nodded, his mouth already too stuffed with pumpkin soup to voice a response. 

“And put them coins away.” She warned under her breath. “Don’t want anyone catching sight of them.”

Sam slid the gold into his lap, where he could gather them up and place them back into his pocket. Just as he was about to dig into his soup, the front door swung open, harsh wind and raindrops dancing inside along with three hooded figures. All voices settled to silence, all movement stilled, as the door eased shut, and the figure in the middle lowered his hood.

Sam’s heart nearly erupted out of his chest.

“Quaint little place,” Prince Gabriel stated as he shook the rain droplets from his sleek hair. 

Balthazar was at his side again, along with a guard Sam did not recognize. Dark dishevelled hair, squared shoulders, but he wore no sword, nor armour, no fine fabrics or jewels. He was young, too, and he gazed around the room warily, a spark of deep intelligence and curiosity dancing in the blue depths of his eyes. A squire, no doubt, especially from the way he would glance at Balthazar for any sort of instruction as they made their way into the Inn. 

Ellen smoothed down her apron, and then bowed deeply in Gabriel’s direction. “My Prince… You honour us with your presence.”

Prince Gabriel smiled faintly at her, and then those golden eyes of his flicked over and clung to Sam in a way that made his breathing halt. He turned on his heel in that graceful, careless way of his, and addressed the group of travelers who eyed him with a mixture of awe and fear. 

“If you good people would be so kind, I would like a word alone with the fine owners of this establishment. Take up your soups and your wine and venture to your rooms for the evening, and I will be sure as to slip one gold coin under each of your doors while you sleep.”

There was hardly a second of time for Ellen to protest before the scraping of chairs and shuffling of bodies leaving the room drowned out the pounding of raindrops and growl of thunder overhead. It took mere moments for the room to fully empty, save for the six of them, and Sam could no longer bring himself to turn back to his soup, hunger long forgotten. 

Seemingly satisfied, Gabriel strode over to their table, pulled out the chair directly across from Sam, and took a seat.

“Some soup for the three of us, if you please.” He said up at Ellen. “Some wine as well, and any sweets you may have for dessert.”

She exchanged a wary look with Sam, before bowing and briskly heading for the kitchen. Balthazar came around, seized the back of Dean’s chair, and dragged it backwards until both Dean and his chair were well away from the table and his soup.

“Hey!” 

“Oh stop your whining for once.” The guard handed Dean his bowl, and took his empty place at the table, dragging over an unoccupied chair for himself. He sat down, one gloved hand clasped around the hilt of his sword, while his squire remained standing.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “My Prince… What are you doing here?”

Before Gabriel could respond, Ellen returned with a tray filled with soup and wine, and set them before their guests. She also laid out a plate full of honey plum tarts in the middle of the table for when they finished their meal.

“Excellent. Thank you.” Gabriel smiled up at her. “This looks marvellous.”

Ellen bowed in thanks, and moved to stand next to Sam as the squire took a seat to dine on his own soup and wine. He didn’t seem to speak much, if at all, and took no sip from his wine cup as he wordlessly enjoyed his meal. Sam also could not help but notice the way Dean was eyeing the squire curiously as he found another spot to finish his dinner.

“To answer your question…” The Prince stated after a few mouthfuls of soup. “I came to ask a favour of you, Sam.”

Sam frowned. “A favour, my Prince? Do you require a book as well?”

“Gods, no.” Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t read. I’ve no patience for it.” He took a long sip of wine, and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before speaking again, his eyes latching onto Sam’s. “I need no books. I need you.”

Sam hadn’t the faintest idea how to respond to that, or what the Prince’s words even meant, but he could feel a sudden heat bubble up within him, rising and rising until it reached every extremity and turned the flesh of his cheeks a bright rose. He cleared his throat.

“I… I don’t… understand…”

“It’s simple, really.” Gabriel reached across the table and plucked a honey plum tart from the plate. He sank his teeth into it, and made a soft sound of pleasure. “You’ve a magnificent way of storytelling, of making books come alive, even to a man who finds no pleasure in reading them. So, I have come to ask you to return to the castle with me, and live there, not as a servant, not to do my washing or fetch me things or dress me in the morning. You come as a free man, live as a free man, but only if you come to my chambers every night, and read me a book before I sleep. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Sam sat in silence, unsure of how to respond, how to think, really. Even Aunt Ellen and Dean were at a loss, so the Prince continued.

“I’m prepared to pay a generous sum of money.” He reached into his cloak, and pulled out a massively fat leather pouch. He dropped the entire thing onto the table, where it thunked heavily and clattered with the sounds of coins. “One thousand gold coins. Enough to keep your family warm, fed, and happy for a good long time. All you need to do is come with me, and it is theirs. You will never have to worry about their well-being while you live with me at the castle.”

“You speak as though I will never see them again…” Sam’s brow furrowed.

“Though you have free range of the castle and its grounds, you cannot actually leave it without me, so you cannot visit them whenever you please. But, I do frequent the village at least twice a week, so that really isn’t so bad.”

“Not so bad?” Dean growled, having found his voice. “You’d be keeping him away from us!”

“Dean. Manners.” Aunt Ellen warned.

“He can’t take Sam away.” Dean protested.

“I won’t be taking anyone away.” Gabriel said flatly. “It is entirely your brother’s decision whether or not to join me. He will not be whipped in the streets or hung or punished in any manner if he refuses. I will simply take my coins, and be on my way, no hard feelings.”

“Then take your damn coins and go!” Dean snapped.

Balthazar rose from his seat, and pulled half his sword from its sheath, the slide of steel ringing in the room. “Watch yourself, boy.”

“Balthazar, sit. I expected this reaction.” Gabriel looked over at Sam when his guard settled. “This is your decision, Sam. I promise, a life of comfort and full bellies for your family in exchange for your presence at my castle and a book read to me every night. You may think about this while I finish my meal. I expect a decision when our plates are clean.”

Sam rose slowly from his seat, his body suddenly having gone incredibly heavy, and moved without a word to the kitchen, his aunt and Dean following at his heels. He heard the swinging of the door behind him, and then felt Dean’s strong, calloused hand at his shoulder.

“You’re not agreeing to this.” His brother growled.

Sam turned to face him. “Dean… We have to think about this…”

“What is there to think about?” Dean threw his arms into the air. “You’re not going to spend your life trapped in that castle just because some Prince offers us gold. We have six coins already. That’s enough to last us—”

“Two months.” Sam cut off sharply. “Those will last us barely two months. Winter comes in three, and what will we do then? We barely had enough last year to make it through, and we’ve even less this year.”

“Our family is not splitting up!” Dean banged his fist on the wooden table, knocking over a clay bowl, where it shattered loudly against the stone floor.

There was a long, drawn out moment of silence, the three of them staring down at the shards of clay scattered about their feet. Sam released a shaky breath, and turned to face his aunt. 

“Aunt Ellen…” He whispered tightly. “What should I do?”

She shook her head slowly, lips drawn into a tight line, worry furrowing at her brow. She stepped closer, and brushed Sam’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You’re a man, now. This is entirely up to you. Your uncle and I will love you no less with whatever decision you make, Sam.”

“And what decision would that be?”

The three of then turned, just as Uncle Bobby stepped into the kitchen through the back door, having returned from his recent hunt. He was soaked to the core, rivulets of water running down from his balding head to rest in his wiry beard. He heaved three rabbit carcases onto the table, their bodies seemingly unmarked, save for the small hole between their eyes where Bobby’s arrows had gone through. He set his quiver and bow against the wall, and shrugged out of his sopping wet cloak.

“Prince Gabriel decided to pay us a little visit,” Dean said bitterly. “He wants to take Sam away.”

Bobby’s brow crinkled in confusion, and he turned to Sam. “Come again?”

“He asked if I would come live there with him, so I can read him books every night. I’d have free reign of the castle and its grounds, and I can visit you all twice a week when the Prince comes into the village.” Sam shuffled his weight to his other foot. “He brought money. One thousand gold coins, in exchange for me.”

“He’s practically buying you!” Dean shouted.

“Dean.” Ellen’s voice was hard, stern. “Enough.”

Bobby scratched at his rough beard with one burly hand, his eyes contemplative, his brows furrowed deeply. He looked up at Sam. “Is this something you’re willing to do, boy?”

“If it means making sure you’re all fed and warm for the winter…”

“No!” Dean seized the back of Sam’s shirt in one angry fist. “You can’t! You can’t leave us!”

“Dean…” Sam attempted to stay calm. “I can’t see you hungry again. I can’t see you shivering and nearly blue because we don’t have enough wood for fire, or clothes on our backs, or food in our bellies. The cold already took dad from us. I won’t have it take you, too.”

He could see the tears building in Dean’s eyes, and then his brother was against him, face buried in Sam’s chest while his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his tunic. Sam returned the embrace, and held him close while he trembled.

“Let me come with you…” Dean murmured against him.

“No,” Sam shook his head, squeezing tighter. “You stay here and take care of Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Dean drew back after some time, wiping his tears away with the heels of his hands, and Sam swept passed him to step back into the dining hall. Prince Gabriel was finished his meal, nibbling on the very last honey plum tart, when Sam approached the table. Dean, Ellen, and Bobby remained in the kitchen doorway, watching silently.

“Do you promise to give my family enough gold to keep them alive and well?”

Gabriel swallowed his bite. “That’s what I said.”

“And I’ll be able to visit them every time you visit the village?” Sam asked.

“Every time.”

Sam felt a tightness in his throat, and casted one last glance in the direction of his family, before taking one deep, final breath.

“I’ll do it.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________

“You despise me, now, don’t you?”

Sam barely heard the Prince’s words over the patter of fat rain droplets colliding with puddles and rooftops, and looked up at him through a curtain of soaked hair. Gabriel was saddled onto his speckled stallion, his red cloak soaked an even deeper, more sinister shade. 

“I’ve no reason to despise you,” he murmured, loud enough to be heard over the storm.

“Well, you hardly seem cheerful,” Gabriel frowned, his hood casting a harsh shadow over half of his face, shielding his lovely golden eyes. “It’s all right, if you dislike me, for having you do this.”

“You’re not having me do anything. This choice was mine. You made that clear.”

Gabriel’s lips quirked into that amused little smile of his, when Balthazar rode up on his restless white mare, freshly fetched by Dean from the Inn’s stables. The squire, who Sam had learned was named Castiel, rode alongside him on a young chestnut gelding. 

“I’ll have someone come for your things in the morning when the storm clears,” Balthazar said down at Sam. “We’d best head back to the castle before we drown out here.”

Sam had already said his goodbyes to his family but, as he gazed up at the warmly lit Inn windows, calling him back in with the promise of warmth, a bowl of soup, and the company of loved ones while he shivered out in the rain with strangers that both intrigued him and frightened him, he couldn’t help but feel like goodbye would never be enough. Dean hardly said a word since their embrace in the kitchen, and Sam could see him now in the stable doorway, his face grim, expression hollow, too stubborn to reveal anymore sadness in the presence of others. 

He would be all right. Dean had always been the strong one.

“I’m not walking, am I?” Sam asked with a frown upon realizing he was the only one without a horse. He and Dean shared a horse, a gorgeous coal black mare named Impala, who had once belonged to their father. He couldn’t possibly take her with him. She liked Dean more, anyways. 

“If you want to. I’m sure those lanky legs of yours would have no trouble keeping up considering your size.” The Prince smirked. “But, if you’d rather ride…” He extended a hand.

Sam stared at the Prince’s gloved palm without a word. 

“Well?” Gabriel asked.

“Am I… allowed?” Sam had never heard of a commoner sharing a saddle with royalty. The very thought seemed blasphemous. 

Gabriel clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I swear, boy, it’s like my words go in one ear and out the other with you. I am not my brothers. I could care less about what is considered ‘proper’ in this kingdom. Get on the horse, or you’ll walk. Simple as that.”

Sam didn’t require an ounce more convincing. Seizing the Prince’s smaller hand, and slipping his boot into the empty stirrup, he hauled his weight up onto the stallion with ease, settling himself directly behind Gabriel. The horse nicked and shuffled with the added weight, but held incredibly strong. 

“Hold on tight.” Gabriel said over his shoulder at him. “Loki is a bit of a wild runner.”

Sam smiled, feeling slight hesitation before slipping his arms around the Prince’s waist and gripping tightly. Gabriel’s body was firm, sinewy, yet comfortably soft against his. He tried not to pay too much mind to it.

Uncle Bobby was at the door of the Inn, his arm wrapped around Ellen’s waist, while his other burly hand cradled the sack of gold Gabriel had given to them, as promised. The gold that would keep them warm, and healthy, and content for this winter and many more winters to come. Sam tried to swallow down the lump of emotion building in his throat at the sight of them, and offered one final wave of farewell.

Gabriel’s horse took off at a steady gallop without warning, and Sam clung tighter, feeling the water and mud splash at his legs as they hung off each side. It was late, the world plunged into a darkness that was only amplified by the clouds blotting out the moon and stars, a thick fog rising up from the soaked earth as the rain continued to fall. Sam locked his hands together at Gabriel’s soft belly, and buried his face against the back of his shoulder, having no hood to keep the rain from hitting his face.

Beneath the rainwater, beneath the scent of earth and damp, Sam could smell Gabriel, even through his cloak. It may have just been his imagination, but the Prince smelled oddly sweet, like honey and cinnamon.

“Are you all right?” He heard the Prince say.

Sam cleared his throat, and forced himself to lift his head from Gabriel’s shoulder. “Yes, my Prince.”

“Gabriel.”

“Hm?” 

“My name. It’s Gabriel.” The Prince said softly. “You may call me that when we are not in the company of others. I see no reason for formalities then.”

Sam shook his head with a soft chuckle. “You are the strangest Prince I have ever met.”

“Have you met many?” Gabriel asked, steering Loki across a long stone bridge which crossed a lake leading up to the castle. The horse’s hooves clopped and splashed loudly against the stone. 

“Only you.” Sam felt heat at his cheeks. “But I have read about Prince’s in my books. I’d have to say you are nothing like any of them.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Yes.” Sam could feel his grip tighten ever-so-slightly around the Prince’s waist, and felt an unusual sense of warmth rising into his chest when Gabriel relaxed into it. “Yes, I’d say so.”

The castle, dubbed Angel’s Keep, loomed high above them as they approached its massive gates. Sam lifted his head and stared up in awe, momentarily releasing his grip on Gabriel to push his soaked bangs from his eyes. Angel’s Keep was a glorious structure made up of marble-white stone perched high on a hill overlooking the villages and farmlands and orchards. Six mighty turrets rose up from the castle to challenge the might of the surrounding snow-capped mountains, their deep blue flags flapping wildly in the wind. Sam had never been this close to the castle, and he found himself overwhelmed, visions from his storybooks suddenly come to life before him.

He spotted guards skulking about the castle’s curtain wall, and Balthazar shouted things up at them that Sam didn’t pay much attention to. There was a loud rumble, too close, too metallic to be thunder, like the rustling of mighty chains, and then the bridge was slowly lowered down for them, allowing them entrance into Angel’s Keep.

They rode their horses to the castle stables, where Sam dismounted rather gracelessly and nearly stumbled into the mud. Gabriel followed suite, making it seem far easier, and led him toward one of the castle entrances.

“Michael and Lucifer will most likely have retired to their chambers at this time,” the Prince stated. “I’ll inform them of your arrival come morning. Until then, you will be staying in the room adjoined to mine.”

Sam frowned as he kept up. “You never told them I was coming, did you?”

Gabriel flashed him a wicked little grin. “My, my, Winchester, how quickly you learn.”

The castle was quiet and comfortably warm as they stepped inside, the only sound being the collision of their boots against the stone floor, and the drip of rainwater pouring off their bodies to pool at their feet. Gabriel pushed his hood off his head, and led Sam down a winding white stone corridor brightly lit by crackling iron torches. Sam was wide-eyed the entire way, gazing up at the high ceilings, at the wooden beams and tall windows decorated in coloured glass that made the light dance, at the grand tapestries depicting scenes of mighty warriors and kings long dead. It was all so beautiful, so grand.

They crept up a winding staircase that soared high into the castle, until they came upon a narrow stretch of hallway that lead to Gabriel’s bedchambers. The room was at the very end of the hall, hidden behind a heavy cherry wood door. The Prince shoved it open, and stepped inside.

“Come in, come in. Please don’t drip on anything.”

Sam shuffled in quickly, and shut the wooden door behind him. He stood in place, daring not take a step further into the room, for fear of soaking the gorgeous and intricately woven rug draped across the stone floor. Gabriel’s chambers were massive in size, warm and dark and incredibly cozy, with tall windows allowing moonlight to seep in and dance across hanging tapestries of fruit trees and winged men in battle. A fire blazed in a magnificent stone hearth that was about as big as Sam was, the light shimmering across the mounds of warm furs and blankets piled atop the biggest bed Sam had ever laid eyes upon. Gods, it could fit his entire family upon it, and there would still be enough room to stretch.

Everything was so big, so expensive, so beautiful. 

He felt incredibly out of place.

Gabriel was across the room, peeling off his sopping wet garments layer by agonizing layer. First came his cloak, and then an embroidered leather vest, followed by a loosely fitting red shirt, which revealed a pale, lightly muscled back that caught the light of the flickering fire. Sam felt his throat clench, while his eyes roamed over the Prince’s shoulders, and the way his wet hair curled at the back of his neck and sent rivulets of water cascading down the curve of his spine. When he turned, Sam’s eyes immediately locked onto the cut of his hips, how deeply they plunged and disappeared behind dark trousers, and his stomach, not heavily muscled, but soft enough to grip onto, to rest against.

Gods help him, Gabriel was beautiful.

He assumed the undressing would cease there, but Sam was so very wrong. Gabriel reached for the clasp and tie of his trousers, and Sam had to immediately look away, for modesty’s sake. He stared down at his own feet while he listened to the rustle of fabric and the pounding of his own blasted heart.

“Shy, aren’t we?” He heard Gabriel say. “Not me. As you can tell.”

“U-um…” Sam was blubbering. “I… um…”

There was more fabric rustling, more silence, and then, “Sam?”

“Yes?”

“You can look at me, now.”

With some hesitation, Sam lifted his head, and was struck at what he beheld. Gabriel was covered up, now, but barely so. He was donned in a loose indigo nightshirt that fell to just above his knee, and nothing else. He had fingers running back through his hair, attempting to wring the rainwater out of it, but Sam could tell that it was already beginning to dry. 

“Better?” The Prince asked, holding his arms open.

Sam could only nod.

“Good, good.” Gabriel tapped at his chin while he ran those golden eyes up Sam’s body. “Hm… You’ll need to get changed as well, if only until your things get here in the morning.” He snapped his fingers. “Ah! I may have something. Wait there.”

Gabriel swept passed Sam and out of his chambers faster than Sam could even come up with a response, and was back not two minutes later with an armful of fabrics that were far too lovely and soft for Sam to even dream of wearing.

“These should fit just fine,” Gabriel grunted while he shut the door back up using his hip. “Lucifer is close to your size.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What… I can’t wear Prince Lucifer’s bedclothes!”

“Well, Michael is too lean and I am too… well… you’re too tall and wide for either of us.” Gabriel grinned like a proud child and held up the mound of clothes. His brow cocked. “Unless you’d like to prance about the castle as bare as they day your mother birthed you, Lucifer’s clothes are all you have.”

The very thought of having the same thing that touched The Silver-Tongued Viper’s body against his own made Sam’s flesh crawl. But, he was soaked to the bone, shivering violently, and incredibly uncomfortable. He reached blindly into the pile, and tugged out a soft nightshirt the colour of pale cream that looked just about his size.

“Good choice.” Gabriel tossed the remaining clothes into an empty chair. 

Sam stared at the nightshirt, and then at the Prince. “Could I… um… have some privacy?”

“If you must.”

Prince Gabriel motioned to a wooden door next to the hearth, which led to a much smaller chamber with an average sized bed, a window, a table with some candles, and a small tapestry of an orchard. That was it. Not even a door leading out into the hallway, which meant Sam would have to walk through Gabriel’s room in order to get out. Still, it was better than the room he had at home. The blankets looked warmer, the bed look softer, and he wasn’t sharing the space with Dean, who tended to leave a mess everywhere he went.

“This’ll be your sleeping quarters.” Gabriel said as Sam stepped inside and took a look around. “You can change in here. Is there anything you’d like me to get you?”

Sam turned slowly to face him, confusion in his eyes. “You’re asking me if you can get me something?”

“Yes.”

“But, you’re a Prince…” Sam could hardly wrap his mind around all of this. “You can’t go around fetching me things like this. I’m just a commoner.”

Gabriel leaned his shoulder on the doorframe and crossed his ankles. “Like you said: I am a Prince, which means I can do whatever the seven hells I want, now doesn’t it?”

“Well… I suppose…”

Gabriel clicked his tongue. “Aha! Then there is no argument. What would you like me to get you?”

Sam was suddenly all-too aware of the emptiness in his gut. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll have the kitchen prepare you a meal, then.” Gabriel winked. “Hurry up.”

Once the Prince was gone, Sam eased the door shut, and made quick work of ridding himself of his sopping clothes. The fabric was clinging to his skin, and hanging heavy off his shoulders. He practically tore off each layer, and released a blissful sigh when he was finally bare. Moving across the room, he picked up one of the blankets and wiped himself dry, running the material through his hair until it was no longer dripping down the back of his neck. 

He gave himself a few moments to gaze out the window as he held that Gods-be-damned nightshirt belonging to the one person in this castle he never wanted to run into. The rain had settled to a delicate patter, and the moon and stars were visible now that the clouds had started to move on. The kingdom, the world, looked so distant, so small and insignificant from where he stood. 

Hard to believe he had been down there, been a part of that world, just an hour ago.

Sam threw Lucifer’s long nightshirt on, which was unfortunately the most comfortable thing he’d ever worn, and padded out into Gabriel’s bedchambers. The Prince hadn’t returned from the kitchen, yet, which granted Sam the opportunity to warm himself by the fire, let it drive the chill and dampness from his bones. The rug was soft under his bare feet, and when he seated himself on the very end of Gabriel’s bed, he nearly collapsed into it. 

Gods, it was so soft. No doubt it was stuffed with feathers instead of straw, like his own bed at home. The furs on it were wolf, and bear, so thick and lush, Sam could hardly resist carding his fingers through them, imagining his body buried beneath them during the winter months. He’d never freeze again.

The door creaked open, and Gabriel returned, carrying a large wooden serving tray piled high with food. The scent of it wafted over to Sam’s nose, and he felt his stomach clench viciously, his hunger almost torturous.

“I hope this is enough,” The Prince said, setting the tray on the bed next to Sam. “It’s all I could scrap up from this evening’s meal.”

Sam just stared down at what was offered to him. Roasted pheasant on a bed of fresh herbs, smothered in hot blackberry sauce, a hunk of hot corn bread, roasted parsnips and potatoes with garlic, a cup of apple cider, and two lemon and cranberry moon cakes.

It was more food than he’d ever seen at one time.

“Is all of this for me?” Sam whispered in astonishment.

“Yes. Except…” Gabriel plucked up one of the moon cakes and wriggled it in front of Sam’s face. “Snatched one up for myself.” The took a massive bite of the cake and gestured to the tray with his free hand. “Go on, then. Eat up.”

Sam had no clue where to start. His stomach wanted it all, every morsel, all at once. He picked up the cup of cider, and took a long sip. It was warm, sweet, tasting of fresh apples and spices Sam had never experienced before. He placed the tray across his legs, and dove into the meal before him, swallowing down mouthful by succulent mouthful until the agony in his stomach was finally settled. 

By the time his plate was clean, and he was busy sucking the last remnants of lemon cake sweetness from his fingertips, Sam lifted his head to see that Gabriel had settled in, lounging against the mound of pillows by his headboard like a lazy cat. He tried to pay no mind to the way his was seated, the way his nightshirt rode up ever so slightly, granting Sam a flash of bare thigh. He quickly looked away and buried himself in his cup of cider, drowning out the tightness in his throat.

“Now that you’re all done eating…” He heard Gabriel say in a low, velvet tone. “I suppose you should finally get to why I brought you here in the first place.”

Sam watched over the rim of his cup as Gabriel reached under one of his pillows, and pulled out a familiar book with red leather binding. 

“That’s the book I sold you!” Sam exclaimed, plucking it from the Prince’s hands. He ran his fingers over the title: Age of Dragons by Chuck Shurley. “Did Michael not read it?”

“Oh, he did.” Gabriel nodded, pulling one of the furs over and draping it across his bare legs. “Took him not a day to finish it. He’s an incredibly fast reader.”

Sam nodded, feeling comfort in keeping this book in his hands. He had nothing of his own within these unfamiliar castle walls, other than the soaked heap of clothes in his room. Not even the nightshirt he wore belonged to him. Gazing at the cracked leather cover reminded him of his humble, imperfect life back in the village, back with Dean and his family.

He missed it already.

“I greatly enjoyed the excerpt you read for me the other day. I thought it would be appropriate to have it be the first book you read to me.” Gabriel smiled.

Setting his empty food tray aside and draining the contents of his apple cider cup, Sam settled comfortably at the very foot of the bed, and opened the book to the very first page. He smoothed out the wrinkles in the paper, trying to be as delicate as possible considering the sheer size of his hands. With one last glance up at Gabriel, all sprawled out over luxurious fabrics and furs like the regal creature he was, the man that Sam would be spending nearly every waking hour with, Sam turned his attention back to the book…

…and began to read.


	2. Part Two

“Well, well, nice to see you finally joining us for a meal, little brother.”

Prince Gabriel strode into the dining hall early the next morning, when the pale rays of grey dawn light danced in through the windows of coloured glass. His two older brothers were already seated at the long table, ready to break their fast over a luscious meal of burnt black bacon, peach tarts, baked bread, and little fried fish with lemon and herbs. 

Michael sat at the head of the table, draped in luxurious blue fabrics that brought out the sharp, calculative intensity of his pale green eyes. He looked as regal as ever in his tall-backed wooden chair, his hair black as night, his dark slashed eyebrows drawn down in that near-constant scowl of his. At his side sat his advisor: a stout, balding, beady-eyed bird of a man named Zachariah. Gabriel had never been overly fond of him and his condescending smiles.

And then there was Lucifer, the loveliest of all of them. He was lounging in his seat, one leg crossed over the other, donned in white silks and velvets, with a gleaming silver fastener at his throat in the shape of the morning star. His looks seemed effortless, hair elegantly mussed and the colour of pale gold, lips curled into an arrogant sneer. He regarded Gabriel with eyes as blue as ice, and just as cold, while one hand lifted a goblet for a young servant girl to fill with wine. He was always so calm, collected, and Gabriel supposed that was what made him so frightening to most people. He did not need brute strength to get his point across. Lucifer’s greatest weapon was his tongue and his mind.

“Forgive my absence last night at supper. I’m afraid I was elsewhere.” Gabriel clapped Michael’s shoulder as he passed, before plunking himself down onto his own chair.

“Out gallivanting through the streets, I assume?” Michael asked as he bit into a peach tart. “I pray you didn’t venture into any brothels. It’s bad enough Lucifer does it.”

Lucifer snorted. “Nothing wrong with giving the whores some business.”

“It is if you’re a Prince,” Michael said.

“Ah! But I am not the crowned Prince.” Lucifer grinned, waggling a finger in his eldest brother’s direction. “I’ve no reputation to uphold. I could care less what the peasants think of me.”

“They think you’re a snake, that’s what.” Michael glared.

“Whatever helps them sleep at night.”

Gabriel clicked his tongue as he plucked some fried fish from the platter and set them on his plate with three tarts and a hunk of bread. “I see the arguing is starting early this morning.”

One of the lovely young servant girls by came up beside him, and leaned in close to fill his goblet of wine. As he was the only royal member of the household who would even hold a conversation with the servants, she dropped her voice to barely a whisper and said, “This is nothing, my Prince. You should have heard them at supper.”

Gabriel snorted as he took up his wine to drink, and gave her a nod of thanks before she flitted off again. As he swallowed down gulp after sweet gulp, he wondered if he would ever grow accustomed to his brother’s tearing into each other at every waking moment. Gabriel couldn’t recall a day when they didn’t argue, and he sometimes thought about whether they even liked each other anymore. They used to, at one point, many years ago. 

That was all gone, now.

“Moving onto more pressing matters…” Zachariah folded his hands on the table as he addressed Michael. “My Prince, the council and I believe your coronation should not be held in a fortnight. That is far too long a time, and the people of the kingdom will grow restless for their new king.”

“Time is needed in order to prepare.” Michael frowned. “I have doubt that, as efficient as our servants are, anything less than a fortnight’s worth of time will not be enough to have everything we need. There is a feast and grand tournament to plan, invitations to send across the seas, and an entire castle and courtyard to clean and prepare.”

“Understood, my Prince.”

“I don’t see why we have to make such a big deal of it, in my opinion.” Lucifer mumbled as he tore into one of his fish. 

“How so, my Prince?” Zachariah asked.

“Is a feast really necessary? Just slap the damn crown on your head, repeat a few vows, and it’s done. We can have you king before lunch.”

“It’s not that simple, Lucifer.” Michael said in a way that told Gabriel he was trying with all his might to be patient.

“Only because you make it that way.”

“Coming from the man who has no shame in parading about the villages, making a damned mockery of our name while he wines and dines and screws everything in sight? There’s nothing simple about you.”

“Because I’m the fun one in the family.” Lucifer said proudly. “And if you happen to get that stick out of your ass, you’d realize that.”

Every ounce of patience had vanished from Michael’s tone. He looked like he was close to leaping across the damned table at Lucifer. “Perhaps you’d take this more seriously if the crown was on your head.”

“Now there’s an idea.”

Gabriel sighed heavily, and waved down the servant girl for more wine, with hopes that he could drink enough to drown out his brothers. As he took another long sip, the door to the dining hall creaked open, and Gabriel turned his head just enough to see a familiar figure in the doorway. Sam looked well rested after his first night in the castle, donned in his usual attire of sturdy leather boots, dark trousers, and a simple tunic in an earthy shade of green that a handful of guards had fetched from his home in the village. His chestnut hair had dried lush and soft after the rainfall, and he flashed Gabriel a small smile upon seeing him, letting those dimples in his cheeks reveal themselves. 

And then all colour drained from his face when he noticed who else was at the table.

“Who in the seven hells is that?” Lucifer asked.

“Sam!” Gabriel exclaimed, rising from his seat and sweeping across the floor to meet him. He looped their arms together and tugged him toward the table, which was much like trying to drag a tree. “Come and meet my brothers.”

“U-um…” Sam looked close to fainting, his hazel eyes flitting between Michael and Lucifer. “I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“Nonsense!” Gabriel grinned, pulling Sam along until they reached the table. He gestured around with his hand. “Sam, may I introduce my brothers: The crown Prince Michael and Prince Lucifer. And Zachariah, the royal advisor.”

Sam was shaking. Gabriel could feel it, even as the boy dropped to one knee before the two Princes, and bowed his head respectfully. 

“Michael, Lucifer, this is Sam Winchester, a bookshop owner from the village.” Gabriel smiled. “He’ll be living here with us for a little while.”

“Living here?” Lucifer looked almost appalled. “Why in Gods name would we allow a peasant to live here?”

“Because I said he could.” Gabriel jutted his jaw defiantly. “He’s here for me. Not for any of you.”

“As your new pet?” Lucifer sneered.

“Lucifer. Enough.” Michael snapped, and turned his attention to Sam, who was still bowed on the floor. “You may rise, Sam. It’s all right.” 

Sam did as bade and lifted himself back to standing, large hands wrung together nervously. Gabriel placed a hand to the small of his back with hopes to ease his nerves, and smiled inwardly when the boy leaned into his touch. 

“How long, exactly, will you be staying with us, Sam?” Michael asked, calmly. 

Sam audibly swallowed, glancing sidelong at Gabriel before answering. “Um… As long my Prince Gabriel requires me to, my Prince.”

“What exactly are you here for?” Zachariah asked, his beady eyes narrowing. 

Gabriel had to cut in before Sam could be given a chance to respond. “That is my business and mine alone, Zachariah.”

Lucifer slid his chair back, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the marble flooring, causing Sam to flinch slightly. He leaned back in his seat with that casual elegance of his, and propped his boots up on the table, paying no heed to the way Michael huffed in annoyance. 

“Really, Gabriel, bringing in strays when you are a child is one thing, and it was fine if it was a tomcat or a wounded bird, but this is crossing the line, don’t you think?”

Gabriel felt himself bristle, and even Sam shrank down somewhat at the insult. 

“Would you like something to eat?” Gabriel whispered up at the boy, motioning to the spread of food laid out before them and refusing to grant Lucifer the pleasure of a response. 

Sam shook his head, and Gabriel could see the pleading in his hazel eyes. He wanted to get as far from Michael and Lucifer as the good Gods would allow.

“Come,” Gabriel gestured to the door, and began leading Sam towards it, but not without first gathering a handful of warm peach tarts. They exited quickly, and Gabriel turned to grant his brothers one last sweeping bow of farewell, before shutting the heavy wooden door behind him, and closing them off away from the others. 

Sam was leaning against the stone wall outside the dining hall, his face buried in the palms of his hands while fingers raked back through his thick hair. He was attempting to steady his ragged breathing.

“That went well.” Gabriel said, twirling on his heel.

“I feel as though I’m going to vomit.” Sam groaned.

Gabriel shook his head. “Oh come, now, my brothers aren’t that terrifying. You’ve just got to know how to handle them. Like a couple of wild stallions who will trample you to death unless you manage to get them reigned. All they need is a good hard yank, and they’ll be ready for saddling.”

Sam lifted his head and stared at him oddly.

“…Perhaps I should have worded that differently…” Gabriel admitted.

And then Sam was laughing, softly at first, but before long he was near doubled over in hysterics, the sound of it echoing through the castle halls. Gabriel grinned broadly, watching him, relishing in the music of his laughter and the way it lit up his face. It was as though the sun had found its way into the castle.

“Nice to know you have a sense of humour.” Gabriel approached him and held out one of the peach tarts. “Here. Breakfast.”

Sam scrubbed a hand down his face once his laughter ceased, and took the offered tart in a way that seemed almost bashful. He bit into it, and followed Gabriel away from the dining hall and deeper into the winding labyrinth of corridors that made up the Angel’s Keep. 

They walked on, silently, amongst the winding stone rooms and halls as they enjoyed their simple breakfast. Sam kept pace with the Prince, taking in the luxury of his surroundings bathed in early morning light. He never touched anything, even though at times it looked as though he ached to, to skim his fingertips down the intricately woven tapestries, or across the sleek marble columns or finely sculpted furnishings. Gabriel was fond of the boy’s sense of modesty and respect for things, of his innocence, but not nearly as much as he enjoyed his intelligence. He saw it as soon as he’d met eyes with Sam, only days ago in the bookshop. Sam’s mind was brilliant, that much Gabriel could tell. It was no wonder books captured him so greatly. 

They came upon one of the terraces that overlooked the courtyard, where the melodic ring of unsheathed steel and clash of sword upon sword reverberated through the crisp autumn air. Gabriel peered down, and spotted Balthazar below, sparring with Castiel, who was struggling to keep up with the guard’s blows. Sam came up next to him and watched in awe, hands rested on the railing made of smooth, weathered stone. 

“Quicker!” Balthazar shouted, bringing his sword up in a great arc to strike down at Castiel. The squire danced backwards, blocking the blow, but nearly stumbled as he did so. He sliced at the air, the tip of his blade whistling, but Balthazar was swift and graceful, darting out of harm’s way. He pressed the tip of his blade to Castiel’s ribs when the boy lifted his arms. “Ah! Now you’re dead.”

Castiel was drenched in sweat, his dark hair matted to his brow, handsome face reddened from exhaustion and the bite of morning chill. He did not speak as he took a moment to catch his breath, and Gabriel wondered if he could even talk at all. The squire never said a word in his presence. 

“You’re getting better,” Balthazar said softly, clasping Castiel’s shoulder with one gloved hand. Their breath escaped passed their lips in white puffs. 

Castiel shook his head, glaring down at his sword in a mixture of frustration and disappointment, more so in himself than the weapon he wielded. Gabriel felt sorry for the boy. From what little Balthazar had told him, Castiel Novak was orphaned since infancy, and then left abandoned by his guardians when he turned twelve. He had struggled for years to stay fed while working in a small blacksmith’s shop as an apprentice, where Balthazar had found him and brought him to the castle. The boy could apparently forge the most magnificent weaponry, but he was completely alone in the world. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re still learning, and someday soon you’ll be just as good as I am, if not better.” Balthazar affectionately ruffled the squire’s dark hair, which earned him the faintest smile. “Now, go wash up.”

When Castiel flitted away, a second guard emerged from one of the castle entrances, long fiery red hair billowing in the breeze, chainmail catching the light of the morning sun.

“Is… that a woman?” Sam asked in awe. 

Gabriel nodded. “Anna Milton is one of the finest soldiers this kingdom has ever seen, and serves as Michael’s personal guard, as Balthazar is mine.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a woman taking up the sword. All the ladies in the village are seamstresses or innkeepers or midwives or prostitutes. They’re delicate and lovely.”

“Anna is lovely, yes, but in no way delicate.” Gabriel grunted. “And she’s a damn devil when it comes to card games. I almost lost my best horse thanks to her. She has a sharp eye, and knows when you’re bluffing.”  
Sam chuckled softly, fingers curling and uncurling restlessly upon the stone railing. They watched as Anna strode forward and exchanged a few words with Balthazar, while a boy from the stables shuffled toward them and handed her a sword. He was donned in light armour, as Castiel had been, and wore a helmet that was entirely too big for his head. 

“That’s Adam Milligan,” Gabriel said, gesturing to the boy. “He’s Anna’s squire, and one of the castle stable boys.”

Adam was carrying his own sword, but he wasn’t at all as practiced with it as Castiel was. The boy was strong from hefting bales of hay and tending to the horses, but he was built smaller, and still so much younger than the other squires. He only just became a man of seventeen in the winter, but he was relentless, quick-thinking, and determined. With a lot more work, and Anna’s mentoring, he’d be a fine soldier one day.

“Think we can get a closer look?” Sam asked softly.

Gabriel nodded. There were steps leading off the terrace and down to the courtyard below, and the two of them hastily made their way down as Anna and Adam began their early morning sparring session. The ground was just barely dried after the night’s heavy rainfall, puddles still scattered about the cobblestones. Leaves of gold and red skittered and leapt across the grounds from the nearby trees in the orchard. Balthazar looked over and bowed deeply when Gabriel got close enough.

“My Prince,” he said over the clang of steel and Adam’s grunts. He regarded Sam with a brief nod. “Winchester.”

Sam tore his eyes from the sparring to return the greeting. “Captain.”

The sparring session was done in short bursts, Anna shouting orders to Adam while she sliced at the air with her blade, driving the boy backwards until he fell, or wasn’t able to block one of her attacks. She allowed him a moment to rest while correcting his stance, or balance, before driving at him once more. 

Gabriel glanced up at Sam, admiring how enthralled he was with the spectacle. The autumn light danced in his hazel eyes. “Have you ever taken up the sword, Winchester?”

Sam shook his head, eyes ahead. “A few times, my Prince, but only for play with my older brother when we were young. And the swords were made of wood instead of steel.”

“So you have never held a real sword?”

“No, my Prince.”

The Prince nodded, reaching over and grasping onto the cool, carved hilt of Balthazar’s sword. He unsheathed it in one fell swoop, the metallic ring of steel calling out into the cloudless blue sky. The sword was masterfully crafted, as were all weapons forged within the castle walls. Beautifully balanced, not too heavy nor too light. He held it out to Sam, hilt first.

“Here. Give it a try.”

Sam stared down at the offered weapon, hesitant, casting wary glances toward Balthazar, as though asking his permission to touch it. 

“Go on,” The Captain of the Guard said with a nod. “Just be careful. Don’t want you slicing off your fingers. Can’t turn book pages without fingers, now can you?”

Sam audibly swallowed, and then grasped the sword, fingers brushing tentatively against Gabriel’s. The Prince watched as the muscles in the boy’s arm strained with holding it up, but barely. He was strong, built lean and sturdy and hard. He could manage it. Sam turned the blade this way and that, getting a feel for its balance and weight, fingers clenching and unclenching around the immaculate gold hilt.

“Well?” Gabriel asked. “How does it feel?”

“It’s… nice, my Prince.” Sam nodded, running a gentle hand across the glistening forged blade. “Much heavier than wood, but it feels natural in my hand.”

“That’s castle forged steel for you. Nothing finer in all the kingdoms.” Gabriel’s chest swelled with pride. “Perhaps one day, you’ll get a sword like this of your very own.”

Sam stared at him. “But… I am no warrior, my Prince.”

“So? Every man must know how to fight, if only for defensive purposes at the most necessary times. A house without a blade is just a crypt waiting to happen.”

He could see Sam smile at that, even just a little. The boy held out the sword toward Balthazar, who didn’t take it.

“Give it a few swings, boy. You can’t understand a blade unless you use it properly. Twirling it about like a lady examining jewels is not going to do you any good.”

Sam drew back with a nod, and then switched the sword between his left and right hand, getting a feel. Just as he made a move to swing at the air, Gabriel cut him off.

“Your stance is wrong.”

Sam paused, and blinked at him. “It is?” He stared down at his feet.

“Mhm.” Gabriel came over, and placed both hands on each of the boy’s hips. Through the thin material of his clothing, the Prince could feel the sharp cut of Sam’s narrow hips, feel nothing but pure, powerful muscle. Gods be damned, how does a boy that reads books all day get this strong? 

Fingers pressed firmly into Sam’s hips, and then gave them a sharp swivel. Sam stumbled somewhat, but caught himself, and Gabriel could feel the boy hold his breath as he corrected the position of his legs, palms roaming, somewhat for his own benefit than Sam’s. 

“Place all your weight on this foot.” Gabriel said, patting Sam’s thigh. “You lunge ahead with this leg, and if you need to turn sharply, your back leg must be at the ready to dodge.”

Sam regarded him curiously. “You know a lot about fighting.”

“Only what my brother’s taught me.”

And speak of the devils, there they were on the terrace, dressed for a day out it would seem. Michael had his quiver at his back, and was donned in earthy tones to help him blend into the woods. He was clearly out for a hunt. Lucifer was still in his white silks, and Gabriel had a feeling he’d be meeting his entourage for another day of terrorizing the villagers.

“Are we allowing the pets to play with pointy things, now?” Lucifer called down.

Sam paled, and dropped the sword out of fright, causing Gabriel to hop out of the way before the blade could strike his boot. No one bothered to pick it up, as they were all too busy dropping to their knees at the approach of their crowned Prince, leaving Gabriel the only upright one. Even Anna and Adam ceased their sparring to show respect. They never dropped to their knees before Gabriel. Not anymore, because he demanded it so. A slight bow was all he required.

Michael approached, his dark cloak billowing. He addressed the stable boy on his knees. “Adam, fetch the horses. You and Anna are accompanying me on a hunt.”

“Yes, my Prince.” Adam said without lifting his head, and flitted off to the stables to fetch three strong mounts and get them saddled.

Gabriel sometimes wondered why Michael chose Adam of all boys to be his personal stable boy, and his guard’s squire. He was still so young, so inexperienced with everything. But, Gabriel was not one to miss the looks they would sometimes cast toward one another from a distance. Michael looked fond, while Adam gazed with longing. 

It seemed that there was much Gabriel didn’t know about the two of them, and what occurred on the rare moments that Michael was alone. 

Michael walked passed Gabriel, and cupped his face in one hand, drawing him in to place a gentle kiss to his cheek. The stubble of his brother’s jaw tickled. “Be good.”

“Aren’t I always?” Gabriel smirked, watching him go.

Lucifer strode in, gallant and white and beautiful, and came nose to nose with Sam once the boy straightened up. Though Lucifer was a few inches shorter than the boy, it was Sam that looked far more intimidated.

“So, you think you’re a warrior, do you?” He bit out.

Gabriel growled. “Lucifer. Stop being a brute. He was only holding Balthazar’s sword.”

“Looked more like swinging it to me.” Lucifer cast a cold, disapproving glare toward Balthazar. “Letting just anyone handle your weaponry, are you? And here I thought we chose a Captain with some sense in him.”

Balthazar bit the inside of his cheek and dropped his eyes, and Gabriel could practically feel the heat of anger crackle off of his armour.

When Lucifer turned his attention back to Sam, the very look he gave was enough to make him flinch. “Go on then, boy. Pick up the sword. Let’s see what you can do with it.”

“Lucifer…” Gabriel grit his teeth.

He was ignored, unsurprisingly. “Pick it up.”

Gabriel felt his heart hammering fiercely behind his ribcage, amber eyes darting about the courtyard for where Michael flitted off to. By the time he spotted his eldest brother, Michael was already mounted and trotting away in the direction of the woods with Anna, while Adam lingered behind to finish saddling his own ride before catching up. There was no point in stopping them. Lucifer would cause enough damage by the time it would take Gabriel to get help.

Sam was trembling as he did as commanded, dropping down to his haunches and picking the sword up from the rain-soaked ground. Gabriel stood close to his side, unsure of how far Lucifer would go, how much he was willing to do to this innocent boy. 

“Now,” Lucifer reached into his white cloak, and drew his own sword: a thinner, vicious looking thing with a silver snake head with bright ruby eyes as the pommel. He pointed the tip directly between Sam’s eyes. “Fight me.”

“I do not wish to harm you, my Prince…” Sam murmured with a tight throat.

“Oh?” Lucifer cocked one brow. “You assume you’ll best me.”

“N-no, I…”

Lucifer took a threatening step forward, and pressed the edge of his blade to Sam’s cheekbone. The boy stilled, eyes closing, desperately trying to keep from flinching so as not to slice his face. The blonde Prince smiled, slow and cruel, head tilting to the side as he pressed the blade firmly into Sam’s skin, so much so that flesh easily broke, and a long red trickle rain down the boy’s jaw.

“Lucifer!” Gabriel had enough, stepping forward and giving his older brother a hard shove backwards. 

Lucifer staggered backward, his icy eyes blazing down at Gabriel. He switched his sword to his opposite hand, and twirled it with obvious frustration. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you? Defending a worthless peasant in such a way. They’re no more valuable than the dirt under my boots.”

“He is not yours to bully.” Gabriel snarled. “Go play your games somewhere else and leave Sam be.”

Lucifer cocked his jaw to the side, and gave Sam a look that told Gabriel that this was in no way over. When his older brother finally turned and strode away, Gabriel released his held breath, and waited until Lucifer was out of the courtyard before tending to Sam. The boy was still shaking, staring down at his hand, which was dotted with the blood still dripping from the slice in his cheek.

“Sam…” Gabriel came forward, and touched gentle fingertips to his jaw.

“I’m… I’m all right, my Prince,” Sam shook his head. “Just a scratch.”

Gabriel shook his head, taking the sword from Sam’s hand and returning it to Balthazar’s possession. “Come. We need to get that tended to.”

Refusing to wait for Sam’s response, Gabriel hooked their arms together and led Sam into the stables. It was warmer in here, away from the whistling autumn wind, and he made the boy sit on small wooden stool that was practically dwarfed in comparison to Sam’s staggering size. The horses nickered and shuffled sleepily in their stalls, tails swatting away flies while they fed on oats and apples. Gabriel found a bucket filled with fresh, clean water fetched from the nearby stream, and carried it over. There were no wrappings nearby, nothing clean enough to use on Sam’s flesh, so he reached for the hem of his own cloak, and gave it a strong rip, tearing off a strip of red fabric. 

“Gabriel…” Sam was about to protest, Gabriel could tell.

“Hush.” The Prince dropped to one knee between the boy’s parted legs, and dipped the cloth into the cool water, before bringing it up to gently dab away the blood. Sam flinched at the contact, and hissed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. It was just cold.” Sam shut his eyes as the Prince cleaned the wound. 

“No, I’m sorry about my brother.” Gabriel frowned deeply. He gently scrubbed the drying blood from Sam’s skin, and then dipped the bloodied cloth back into the water, wringing it clean again, before bringing his attention to the wound itself. “I should have known he would act this way around you. This is my fault.”

Sam sighed, slow, almost pleasant, and opened those hazel eyes to regard Gabriel softly. “No, it isn’t. I knew what Lucifer was, what he was capable of. Besides, you defended me against him. That’s all that matters.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to if you chose to fight him instead of remaining still.” Gabriel dabbed at the wound, relieved to see that it was not as deep as he’d first imagined. Any form of dressing or stitches would not be needed. “If you had taken up your sword against him, he would have hurt you far worse than this. Perhaps even killed you. I… I don’t know what I would have done, then.”

The tightness suddenly present in his throat startled Gabriel, and he had to take a moment to look away and compose himself. Sam’s wound was as clean as it was possibly going to get, so he tossed the cloth into the bucket and stood, wiping away the straw and dirt that clung to his trousers. He was about to turn away, when a strong hand found his wrist, and held him still. Gabriel turned just enough to look up at Sam, now standing, a gentle smile gracing his achingly handsome features, despite the painful-looking fresh cut across his cheek.

“Thank you…” Sam said, soft as a whisper. “…for taking care of me. You didn’t need to.”

Gabriel had to smirk, swaying back on his heels. “It was no trouble.”

“You’re a Prince. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

“Well, I did. I brought you here, and it’s my duty to keep you safe while you are within these walls.” Gabriel clicked his tongue, an idea suddenly surging into his mind. Grinning, he took a step closer to the boy, until their chests met. He tipped his head back, the height difference between them practically straining his neck. “Allow me to make it up to you.”

He watched as Sam swallowed hard, and he could feel the boy’s quickening breath against his face. Sam wet his lips slightly, and Gabriel couldn’t help but watch the swipe of that pink tongue. A flutter of heat rose from his gut and into his chest.

“How?” The boy asked.

Setting the bucket down, Gabriel seized one of Sam’s massive hands and tugged him back toward the castle at a running pace. “You’ll see.”

Sam was practically hurled across the courtyard, long legs having no trouble keeping up with the quick little Prince. Gabriel led him through winding hallways and up stone steps, dodging furniture and servant girls who shrieked and nearly dropped their trays and mounds of freshly washed linens. Gabriel was laughing all the while, and each time he glanced over his shoulder at Sam, he could see the grin on the boy’s face growing ever larger. 

“Where on earth are you taking me?” Sam chuckled between panted breaths.

“Patience!” Gabriel laughed, tugging Sam around a corner and towards a grand staircase. “We’re nearly there!”

The staircase was massive, leading up to one of the highest towers in Angel’s Keep, carved out of magnificent white marble and draped in a rich red rug that muffled the sound of their boot-strikes. The room was at the very top of the stairs, behind a set of massive mahogany doors carved intricately with the images of dragons, their wings spread and great jaws cracking open to reveal row upon row of monstrous teeth. Gabriel halted outside the door, chest heaving as he caught his breath, fingers still entwined with Sam’s. 

“Wow…” Sam was staring at the door, and lifted his free hand to trace fingers over the carved wooden dragons, following the curve of their tails and the map of their wings. 

“Wait until we go through them,” Gabriel stepped closer. “Close your eyes.”

Sam stared at him curiously, but did as bade. “What if I run into something?”

“Don’t worry,” Gabriel grabbed hold of the brass handle and pushed the heavy door open. “I’ve got you.”

The room was brightly lit with floor to ceiling windows that welcomed in the afternoon light, and smelled pleasantly musty, like old paper and candle wax. Gabriel moved slowly backward, leading Sam further in, their boot steps, through soft, echoing through the high ceilings and vast open spaces. No one ever came in here, anymore. 

“Can I open my eyes, yet?” Sam asked, nose crinkling as he squeezed his eyes shut against the glare of afternoon sunlight.

“One moment…” Gabriel urged him further in, still, until their feet met soft rug. He released his hold on Sam’s hands, and took a small, indulgent moment to himself, to run his gaze over the boy’s face while Sam’s eyes were still shut. “Mm… Alright. You may open them.”

When Sam was finally able to blink the world back into focus and lift his head, he gasped loudly, hazel eyes growing wide with wonder and awe. He was almost certain he heard the boy’s heartbeat cease at that precise moment in time. Gabriel stood back and allowed Sam to take it all in, arms crossed over his chest, a rather smug smirk spreading across his lips, and rightfully so.

The castle library was an astonishing room, built thousands of years ago by the first ruler of the kingdom. Some said that the library was here before Angel’s Keep was, and the king simply constructed the castle around it. A magnificent vaulted ceiling soared high above them, with the painted image of an apple tree, its roots and branches reaching from wall to wall. The floor was made of stone, incredibly old, that glimmered with embedded multicoloured flecks of minerals and crystals, and covered in an array of ornate rugs placed here and there in no particular order. A great stone fireplace sat at the far wall, surrounded by plush velvet seating and long wooden tables that still shone, despite their age. There wasn’t a single wall that could be seen in this room. Only shelves. Shelves upon shelves upon shelves, soaring high to the very top of the tower, separated only by the windows, and overflowing with hundreds of thousands of books. 

Sam stepped further into the room, turning on his heel, taking in every bit of the place. 

“You like it?” Gabriel asked him.

“It’s…” Sam breathed, slack-jawed and eyes shining with wonder, like a child. “It’s… Gabriel, I’ve never seen so many books.”

“Some of these books are centuries old, having been here since before the castle was even built.” Gabriel strolled around, running fingertips along one of the tables, leaving behind four trails in the aged dust that had settled there. “We used to always come in here as boys, my brother’s and I. Michael would read us stories, we’d play hide and seek among the shelves, and we’d nap by the fire during snowfalls. It was our favourite room in the castle.”

He stopped before the fireplace, and recalled the days he’d spent there, curled up in Lucifer’s lap while Michael read tales of brave knights and great battles, of damsels and wizards and mad kings and dragons. They would steal cakes from the kitchen and blankets from their rooms, and bring them up into the library. It would take the servants hours to find them. 

“We…” he swallowed. “…we don’t come here, anymore. My brother’s are far too busy now that they’ve grown. This room has been long forgotten by everyone but me.” Gabriel turned, then, and gazed at Sam. “And now, it’s yours.”

Sam staggered back. “…Mine?”

“This room should be appreciated again, and I know no one who has a stronger passion and appreciation for books than you.” Gabriel smiled. “These books are yours to read whenever you wish. This room is yours for however long you want it.”

Sam crossed the room to stand before Gabriel, hazel eyes shining like wet stones. He reached down and took one of the Prince’s smaller hands in both of his, and then bowed deeply at the waist, drawing Gabriel’s knuckles to his lips to kiss gently. Gabriel’s breath hitched, and he felt a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach.

“I did nothing to deserve this gift,” Sam murmured, his breath warming the back of Gabriel’s hand. 

Gabriel shook his head, fingers slipping out of Sam’s grip to cup his jaw and draw his face upward until their eyes met. He allowed the boy to straighten to his full, towering height, the pad of his thumb ever-so-gently running over the healing cut across his cheekbone.

“You have,” Gabriel said. “Believe me, you have.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________

In the days that followed, Sam spent almost every moment that he possibly could within the castle library. He’d set up a nook for himself, rearranging the tables and chairs to his liking, and making sure there was always a fire burning in the hearth to drive the chill from the monstrous room. The first two days were spent exploring, going from shelf to shelf to see what the library had to offer. He’d gathered armfuls of books that instantly beckoned him, and piled them up like towers on the floor and table. 

Sometimes, Gabriel would join him, sifting through the books on the opposite side of the library to cover more ground, plucking out the stories he recalled being his favourite as a child. Sam always had his meals here, since dining with the other Princes was clearly out of the question. Every day, Gabriel would bring him trays of roast chicken and stews and fresh greens and fruit pies and sweet cream and warm cider. Some nights, the Prince would even dine with him, allowing Sam to read him the evening’s story while they feasted and listened to the soft rain and wind.

The Prince was… remarkable. During their time together in the library, Sam had grown to know him, more as a real person than a figure of power and praise. Gabriel was incredibly sharp, clever, and quick-witted. He enjoyed making a joke out of nearly everything, never failing to get Sam laughing until his sides ached for mercy, and he had a quick tongue like Lucifer, but used it to be snarky rather than cruel. He sometimes spoke about the things he loved, the things that made him passionate, and Sam would sit back and bask in the way his amber eyes would light up, and his hands would wave about while he rambled on and on and on. He had the most animated face, to the point where Sam could lift his attention from a book and read the Prince’s very thoughts simply by the expression he wore.

Gabriel was flippant and flamboyant and chaotic and calm. He was easy to talk to, to be around. He didn’t intimidate Sam as much as he first did. He was a fine swordsman but a terrible shot when it came to archery, he loved riding and festivals and jousting tournaments, he adored playing pranks on his older brother’s, mystery books, and sweets. Gods, did he love sweets. There wasn’t a day that went by that Sam didn’t see the Prince munching on some form of tart or pastry or cake. 

Sam almost didn’t notice it at first, but he was… happy. For the first time in ages, he slept through the entire night, he had food in his belly and a mountain of books, and no worries about whether his family was going to survive the approaching winter. 

When the time came to finally venture out of the castle, Gabriel suggested a luncheon on a hill by Lawrence Lake, and told Sam it was alright to invite his brother along for the trip so that they could catch up. Sam was ecstatic, borrowing one of the castle horses and taking off at a hard gallop to the village Inn to see his family. His Aunt and Uncle were doing incredibly well, news of the Prince’s visit causing business to boom, even though they didn’t really need the extra money anymore. Dean had been taking care of the horses when Sam arrived to take him to lunch, and had barrelled his little brother over into a mound of straw upon seeing him, squeezing until Sam could hardly breathe.

“What the hell happened to your face?” Dean asked him quietly as they rode to meet with Gabriel and the others by Lawrence Lake.

Sam reached up and felt the healing scratch running along his cheek. It itched something terrible, but he learned to leave it be, or else it starts bleeding all over the place. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Was it Gabriel?” Dean’s eyes flashed darkly.

“What? No!” Sam shook his head. “Gabriel would never hurt me like that.”

“Right, right…” Dean said coolly, turning his eyes ahead. “He paid for you, so he’d want to keep you in the best condition possible.”

Sam shot him a look. “Are you still going on about that? He didn’t buy me, Dean.”

“Seemed like he did. What do you do there, anyways? Eat, read books, laze about as you please and explore the castle?” Dean snorted. “Anyone hired wouldn’t be granted such privileges. They’re made to work, made to obey rules. You’re more like a toy he bought to play with.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not.” Dean’s jaw tightened as he steered Impala up the hill. Her pitch black coat shimmered in the afternoon light. “I’m angry. Angry that I don’t get to see my baby brother like I used to. That he was taken away by some spoiled little brat who uses his power to get what he wants.”

Sam didn’t respond, not wanting to fight on what was supposed to be a pleasant day with his brother. Dean was upset, and that was understandable, but he didn’t know Gabriel. Didn’t know the situation. They rode in silence, then, up the hill to where Gabriel was waiting for them. Balthazar and Castiel had tagged along, unsurprisingly, and the lunch was already unpacked by the time the Winchester’s arrived and dismounted their horses.

Across a soft blanket draped over the cool grass, were platters of freshly baked breads and fine, pungent cheeses; dried and fresh fruits like figs and apples, pumpkin spiced tarts, smoked ham, fried fish with herbs, and enough dark beer to satisfy them all. Gabriel was seated among the delicious spread, conversing softly with Balthazar, while Castiel was off by the lake, dipping his fingers into the cool water and watching as the little fish swam toward him. The Prince lifted his eyes and offered a smile that only Sam returned. 

“Still don’t like me, do you, Dean?” Gabriel asked as they feasted, oil and herbs running down his fingers as he picked apart a fish.

Dean chewed on a hunk of bread. “No, my Prince. I don’t.”

Sam nearly choked on his beer.

“Shame.” Gabriel shrugged, and sucked the oil and herbs off his fingers one by one. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Only taken my little brother away. But minor details, am I right?” Dean glared.

“Dean!” Sam hissed.

“It was his choice to come with me. You were there. Don’t tell me your mind is too dense to recall it.” Gabriel said. 

“You waved around a sack of money in front of starving people. What did you expect to happen?” Dean poured himself a second cup of beer. “Sam is too loyal for his own good. He can’t resist helping our family, especially with winter coming. You make it seem like there was a choice, when in reality, there wasn’t. You knew exactly how it was going to play out. You knew he was going to say yes.”

Silence followed that; a long, deafening silence broken only by the gentle lapping of lake water against the shore, and dried leaves skittering through the grass. Dean and Gabriel were staring hard at each other, their meal forgotten. Balthazar was being quiet for once, but Sam had a feeling that if Dean said one more word, the guard would wring his neck and leave him hanging. Castiel kept his eyes down, and picked at some dried figs. 

“That isn’t true…” Sam finally cut in. “It’s not.”

Gabriel turned his gaze to Sam, and the boy pleaded with his eyes, knowing that Gabriel would never trick him that way, would never deliberately take him away from his family for his own benefit. He wanted to reach across the blanket and take the Prince’s hand, wanted to beg him to convince Dean that he was wrong.

And then Gabriel looked away.

And Sam knew.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

“Why did you do it?”

Sam stared across the room at Gabriel, who seemed too preoccupied with undressing himself to answer him. It was early evening, the setting sunlight filling the Prince’s bed chambers with an eerie red glow that did very well to suit Sam’s current mood. They hadn’t said a word, much less to each other, since departing from the luncheon. Gabriel peeled off his cloak and riding gloves, unlaced his shirt and tossed it onto the bed, until he was donned in nothing but his trousers and boots. He kept his bare back to Sam, avoiding eye contact ever since he looked away the first time.

“Gabriel.” Sam was through with patience. “Answer me.”

Amber eyes glared back at him. “Might want to watch your tone, there.”

Sam shifted his weight to his opposite foot and folded his thick arms over his chest, frustration gnawing mercilessly at him. “I just want to know why you did it.”

“Did what?”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek. “Please, don’t play mind games.”

The Prince turned, then, as gracefully as ever, and made his way over to the hearth. The thing dwarfed Gabriel in size, flames nearly as tall as he was licking and dancing across monstrous logs. “Tell me, Sam, what do you notice about the relationship my brother’s have?”

“Pardon?” Sam frowned.

“You heard the question.”

Sam scratched at the back of his head. “I don’t know. They’re… not fond of each other, I suppose.”

“And what do people do when they aren’t fond of each other, but are forced to live together?” Gabriel continued to stare into the crackling flames.

“They argue.”

“They argue.” The Prince nodded once, and finally turned to lock eyes with him. “My brother’s used to love each other. They loved each other more than they loved anyone else in the world. You’d think they were twins with the bond they shared. But then they grew older, Michael became dedicated to his responsibilities toward the kingdom, and he barely had time for any of us, even Lucifer. That’s why Lucifer hates the villagers so much, because Michael, as future king, is dedicated to their well-being now, and not his. They are at each other’s throats constantly. I remember lying awake in my chambers, because I could hear them shouting at each other when Lucifer would arrive home at ungodly hours, drunken from his night out.”

Sam stood, motionless and silent, so Gabriel continued. 

“I tried finding ways to distract them away from each other. That’s why I went to your bookshop in the village. I wanted to give them something to read, so their attention could be put on something other than their hatred. You can probably guess how long that lasted.”

“You came back to see me three nights later.” Sam breathed.

“They finished their books, and were at each other’s necks again. So, instead of finding a way to distract them, I wanted a way to distract me. I tried everything I could to help, but they’re stubborn, arrogant men. I thought that my only other option was to just ignore the fighting altogether.” In the glow of the setting sun, Sam could see moisture building in the Prince’s eyes. “You… when you read me those passages in the books, I was transported. Your way of storytelling is captivating, and for that one moment I forgot where I was, who I was, and what I was there in the shop for to begin with. I thought that maybe if you kept reading to me, I could get lost in that world again, where I had no brothers to begin with.”

“So you tricked me into coming with you to the castle, so I could read to you anytime you wished.”

Gabriel flinched. Barely, but it was enough for Sam to notice. “Yes, that’s one way of putting it.”

“Why didn’t you just explain this to me in the first place?” Sam asked.

The Prince snorted. “My pride would not allow that. So, I just danced around my true intentions, shoved a bag of gold in your hands to make it easier for you to say yes, and the rest is history, I suppose.”

Sam wasn’t at all sure how he was supposed to react to such things. His anger had simmered somewhat, but was still there, seething just below the surface. He felt immense pity for the Prince, he felt frustration, betrayal, understanding. He felt everything. 

Just then, Gabriel moved across the room to the long wooden table by the window, plucked a piece of parchment from a stack, and dragged over a lovely peacock-feathered quill and ink well. He began scribbling something down, quickly, the quill scratching loudly in the silence of the room, and then neatly folded up the piece of parchment, sealing it together with melted blue wax, and the sigil of the royal family. 

“You can leave…” Gabriel said, so softly that Sam barely heard him. He turned and held the parchment out. “If you no longer wish to be here with me, I will not hold you against your will. This is a royal pardon. Hand it to the guards by the front gate, and they’ll let you out of the castle without question. And you can keep the gold, as my apology.”

Sam hesitantly reached out and took the pardon in his hands, throat suddenly becoming uncomfortably tight. He stared down at the parchment, at the hardened wax seal keeping the ends of the paper sealed together; the one thing that would allow him to walk out, and return to his family, and to the life he’d always known.

When he turned and left the room, Sam didn’t even cast Gabriel one last glance, for fear of the pain it would certainly cause him. Unfortunately, no matter how much fury he felt, his feet would not allow him to walk any further than the end of the hall. Something, some invisible thread, was keeping him tethered here, tugging ever so slightly, beckoning him back to the Prince. Sam huffed a shaky breath, and buried fingers deeply into his thick hair, heart sounding off like a thunderclap in his ears. He stood alone, a flickering torch in an iron mount his only company, staring between the stairway that would lead him out of the castle, and the corridor that would take him back to Gabriel’s bedchamber.

He couldn’t leave. Not after Gabriel had thrown his pride aside and revealed his pain, not after he had trusted a mere commoner enough to show his vulnerability and admit his mistakes. Sam would be cruel to walk out on a man that had, somehow, become one of the best friends he’d ever known.

A man he was developing feelings for…

“Damn it all…” he growled under his breath. 

Sam spun on his heel and headed back to Gabriel’s bedchamber, pace slowing enough to allow him a silent approach when he re-entered the room. He halted right in the doorway, and stared at Gabriel, who was facing the hearth, arms crossed over his chest. From his current angle, Sam could see the Prince staring expressionless into the flames, the light dancing across fresh tracks of tears on Gabriel’s cheek.

He was crying. 

The tightness returned to his throat, so much that Sam could barely get a word out, until, “you’re an idiot.”

Gabriel practically hit the ceiling, wheeling around to stare at Sam in shock.

“What you did? It makes you an idiot.” Sam said as he slowly approached. “You didn’t think, you used your power in order to get your way, and you lied to me.” He walked until he was practically chest to chest with the Prince. “You’re an idiot, but you’re not a bad person. Your intentions were not corrupt. You were desperate, and lonely, and you made a mistake. Am I right?”

Gabriel audibly swallowed, nodding as another tear fell down his face.

Sam tenderly brushed the tear away with his thumb, using the same softness Gabriel had when touching the cut on his cheek. “I don’t hate you. I’m angry, still, because of this, but not enough to leave.” He stared down at the parchment in his hand, and then tossed it aside, flinging it into the hearth where it became devoured by the flames. Gabriel stared after it with wide eyes. “I’m not staying because of the library, or because of the food and warmth and protection. I’m staying because of you, and only you.”

The Prince let out a ragged breath, as though trying to keep his emotions at bay.

“No more lies,” Sam whispered. “No more tricks. You tell me your true intentions, and I will tell you mine.” He smiled, softly, and motioned to the bed with his head. “Now, go sit, so I can finish reading you your book for the night.”

Gabriel did not go to the bed. He did not move from his spot. Instead, he dropped to his knees before Sam, lowering himself before a commoner in a way that no royal would ever do. The Prince pressed his forehead into Sam’s stomach, fingers curling into the fabric of Sam’s trousers.

“I don’t deserve this…” Gabriel whispered.

Sam kneeled as well, until he and Gabriel were eye-level with each other. Until, for the first time, they were equal. 

“You do.” Sam murmured, cupping the Prince’s face in his hands, and drawing him close. He brushed a kiss, soft as a feather, over Gabriel’s brow. “You do.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________

“I look ridiculous.”

The tailor kneeling at Gabriel’s side; an older gentleman with a receding tuft of dark hair by the name of Crowley McLeod, glanced up with an exasperated look, shiny silver pins held between clenched teeth. He rose up to a height that was not unlike Gabriel’s, and brushed off his impeccably tailored trousers and shirt, the fabric so black, it seemed to absorb whatever light was in the room. A silver mockingbird pin was fastened at his throat.

“What’s wrong with it?” Crowley huffed with a slight eye roll.

Gabriel gestured down at himself, at the ruffles of blue and green, at the puffy shoulders and sleeves, and the ridiculous cloak. There were little pins poking at his legs and sides, and the fabric was starting to itch. “I look like an overstuffed peacock that’s been run over with a cart. Twice.”

“It’s not finished, yet.” The tailor bit. “Mind you, your brother Michael instructed me to dress you in whatever I choose for his coronation, and you have to wear it regardless of what you think of it.”

The Prince nearly whined, staring across the room at Michael, who was busy modelling his own attire in front of a massive glass mirror. He looked good, at least, draped in regal reds and golds, which would do well to match the crown that would be placed on his head in two days. 

“Michael…” Gabriel pleaded.

“It’s true. I did say that.” Michael smirked at him through the mirror. “Crowley’s been dressing you since you were old enough to walk, brother. He knows what he’s doing.”

“That’s right.” Crowley poked at Gabriel’s side with a pin, which made him yelp. “And unless you want to wear a gown to the coronation, hush and allow me to finish working.”

Gabriel sighed, and straightened his posture, extending an arm for Crowley so he could work on one of the puffed sleeves. Michael strode over, red velvet cloak dragging along the marble behind him, and poured himself a cup of wine from the table near Gabriel. It was late, incredibly late. Crowley had been working on their new coronation attire long past sunset, and had only managed to get Michael finished. Lucifer still hadn’t shown for his fitting. Gabriel yawned, shifting his weight to his opposite foot, and eyed his eldest brother sidelong.

“You’re stressed,” Gabriel pointed out as Michael downed his third cup of wine tonight.

Michael laughed softly. “How’d you notice?”

“You’ll make a good king.” Gabriel said reassuringly. 

The crowned Prince set his silver goblet down, and smiled, which deepened the creases at the corners of his tired eyes, and made him seem so much older than he was. “I’m not worried about that.”

“Lucifer?” Gabriel asked.

Michael grunted, and carefully unclasped his cloak from his shoulders, which had been held in place by glorious golden pins. He draped the fabric carefully across one of the tables, mindful not to wrinkle it, lest Crowley swat the back of his head with a boot. He’d done it before. 

“He’s not going to show up tonight.” Michael said softly, fingertips grazing the surface of the fabric. “He’s out. Drinking and gambling and whoring and being reckless, doing everything he knows bothers me, just to hurt me in any way he can.”

Gabriel pressed his lips into a thin line, and cast his eyes to the floor. He’d never been good with words, or with comfort. Frankly, he’d heard Michael complain so much about this subject, that there really was not anything left for him to say. 

“He’s not coming to the coronation.”

He gave Michael a curious look. “How do you know that?”

Michael shrugged. “Because I won’t allow him in.”

Gabriel exchanged a look of dread with Crowley, who was busy snipping some of the ghastly excess fabric from the sleeves he wore. Lucifer being let out was bad enough, but Lucifer not being allowed back in? There was no telling what would happen. 

“Michael, that’s not going to go over well. You know that, right?” Gabriel followed Michael with his eyes while his eldest brother paced back and forth by the mirror. “As soon as Lucifer discovers that he isn’t allowed back in the castle… “

“It doesn’t matter.” Michael waved his brother’s concerns off. “I’m through with him, and his games. I’m supposed to run a kingdom, not babysit a little brat having a Gods-be-damned temper tantrum.”

“Have you tried talking…”

Michael slammed his fist against one of the tables, knocking over the silver goblet he’d filled with wine. It clattered loudly against the marble, some of the precious gems that had decorated the chalice breaking off on impact and skittering across the room. There was wine everywhere, and Crowley had to physically yank Gabriel out of harms way, before it splattered all over his fabrics. The tailor looked appalled at the sight of the mess in his work space, and Michael was breathing heavily, fist clenched until his knuckles became white.

“I’m through with talking.” Michael said in a harsh whisper.

The room became as silent as death, the three of them drawn to a motionless halt, until Gabriel finally released the breath he’d been holding, and dragged himself out of Crowley’s grip. Fingers curled and tugged at the fabric surrounding him, constricting him, suffocating him, and he pulled and thrashed and wriggled until he was free of it, ignoring the protests from his tailor. The pins scratched and bit at his skin, the fabric tore somewhat, but Gabriel had gone past the point of caring. Once free, and dressed in just his trousers, he tossed the material at Crowley’s feet, and left the room without another word. 

Michael didn’t come after him. 

He headed up. Up, and up, and up the flights of stairs, higher and higher and higher until he was as far away from his brother as he could possibly get, until he reached the tower and the comforting glow of firelight pouring out through the library doors. Gabriel slipped inside, and locked himself in, the fire in the hearth warming his bare back, embracing him in a way Crowley’s damned fabrics couldn’t. Embraced him in a way he hadn’t been embraced in years.

“Gabriel?” Sam’s voice called out from somewhere in the shelves, and the Prince turned just enough to see that familiar face peering out at him, an armful of books balancing dangerously in his hands. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine enough.” Gabriel said.

“That’s not a yes.” Sam frowned, those too-long legs of his manoeuvring around the mountains of books he’d already created on the floor, so he could set his fresh stack on a table. The boy came over, his brows furrowed with concern. “What happened?”

“My family happened.”

The boy sighed, understanding, but did not pry. Instead, he took both of Gabriel’s hands in his, and drew them up to kiss his knuckles, lips soft and dry and sweet. The Prince felt his chest clench, especially as Sam offered him a gentle smile, and said, “Do you want to see what I found? I think you’re going to like it.”

Gabriel allowed Sam to lead him across the library, and the Prince suddenly became quite aware of a chill in the room, though none of the windows were open, as far as he could see. Goosebumps scattered across his bare flesh, prickling, and he opened his mouth to question it, until Sam halted and pointed above their heads. Gabriel looked up, and blinked, his mind trying vigorously to wrap around the fact that he as looking at starlight, and not a ceiling.

“Why is there a hole in the roof?” He asked.

Sam chuckled. “It’s a moon door. A little window in the ceiling that can be opened with a rope and pulley, which I found hidden behind one of the curtains.” He gave Gabriel’s hand a squeeze. “We can lie under the stars without having to go outside.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow, and smirked. “My, my, Winchester. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to seduce me.”

The tint of red that hit Sam’s cheeks was enough to make Gabriel cackle. Together, they pushed aside the tables and books, clearing the spot on the thick ornate rug in front of the fire, and lay down together directly under the moon door, flat on their backs, with their shoulders touching and hands just barely resting near each other.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Gabriel asked softly, eyes trained to the clear night sky. “It’s late.”

“Is it?” Sam shrugged. “Time got away from me, I suppose. My books distract me. I’ve read four of them today, and I was just about to get started on the fifth.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes with a laugh.

Neither of them said a word for a long while after that, the warmth of the fire easing them, the cricket song outside lulling them, their breaths falling in time with each other and their eyes set on the shimmering stars above. Gabriel was almost certain they would fall asleep here, just like this, and he was all too ready for that, until Sam finally spoke up…

“You remind me of the stars.”

The Prince turned his head and regarded him curiously. “How so?”

It was another long moment before Sam answered him, as though the boy was searching for the proper words to explain himself. “Stars are iridescent and beautiful… restless as the move across the sky, never staying in the same place two nights in a row. You’re a lot like that.” Sam shifted slightly, and wet his lips. “You’re kind to your people, you help them, and that’s what stars do, too. They guide those who are lost, and they provide hope for those who have experienced pain. You can never know all the stars, how many there are, or what all their stories are, but to just know a small part of the night sky is a blessing, even if you’re too low on the ground to reach out and touch them.”

Gabriel stared at Sam, heart somehow having lodged itself in his throat. His jaw moved, but no sound came out.

Gods help him…

“I’m too low on the ground to touch the stars…” Sam added softly, something not unlike sadness flickering across his face. “I’m a rock or something.”

“Well, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Sam’s head whipped to the side, hazel eyes locking onto amber, and staying there. “Huh?”

“You’re not a rock.” Gabriel nudged their shoulders together. “You may be as graceful as one, but you are certainly no rock, Sam.”

“A tree, then.”

“Well, at least that matches your height.” The Prince grinned.

Sam lifted himself onto his elbows and turned to hover over the Prince, and Gabriel couldn’t help but think that he could get very used to looking at the boy from this angle. “What am I, then?”

Gabriel didn’t hesitate. “The sun.”

The curiosity was gone from Sam’s eyes, and replaced with something else; something Gabriel could not describe. “Why the sun?”

“Because you are the brightest, warmest, most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.” He said plainly, and though he wasn’t a master of lovely words like Sam or Michael was, Gabriel actually attempted to put an effort into what he said next. “You’re nurturing, and you bring peace to me, like a sunrise brings peace to those frightened of the darkness. Stars only shine at night, because the sun has set, and allowed their brightness to take over. I’m only as bright as you make me, Sam. I’ve made mistakes, I’ve done foolish things, but you’ve never given up on me, you’ve never hated me. You let me shine, though I could never be as bright as you.”

Long, deft fingers were suddenly pushing through Gabriel’s hair, and a warm palm sat rested against his cheek. Sam’s face was close, now, so incredibly close, that the Prince could count the flecks of brown and green in the depths of his eyes, and feel the tickle of warm breath against his lips. So close, so achingly close.

“Sam…” Gabriel breathed, heart pounding in his ears.

“Shh,” Sam closed the distance between them, their lips finding each other, and kissing. Light, slow, and sweet. 

Gabriel’s eyes fell closed, and he exhaled into Sam’s mouth, hands hesitantly coming up to flatten across the boy’s broad, magnificent back, fingers splaying as he felt muscles roll beneath thin fabric. Sam’s lips were just as lovely as Gabriel imagined, feather soft and tasting like the sweet apples he’d had for supper. Time seemed to slow immensely, if not fall to a compete stop. Mouths never parting, Sam moved to himself directly above the Prince, caging him in with his powerful, massive body, knee slipping between Gabriel’s thighs and gently easing them open. More goosebumps tickled at the Prince’s flesh, and the chill in the room had nothing to do with them. 

A slight, hesitant swipe of Sam’s tongue against his teeth had Gabriel gasping, and he parted his lips, inviting the boy in without question, inviting him to take it all. Sam shuddered, and made a small sound of approval, strong arms suddenly crushing Gabriel to him while he deepened the kiss, licking into the Prince’s mouth, sucking the very breath from his lungs. Gabriel hooked his arms around the back of Sam’s neck, kissing him fiercely, until his vision swam and his mind was fogged over and incapable of thought. 

There was no telling how long they kissed for, how long they spent tasting, and nipping, and murmuring into each other’s mouths; some kisses led to soft laughter, and hands were left to explore, and trace over warm, unfamiliar flesh, memorizing contours and planes of muscle and softness. Soon, they were laying against each other, Gabriel curled into Sam, with the boy’s shirt draped across his shoulders to keep him warm against the chill, as Sam barely felt the cold, much. Even while sleep tugged at them, their mouths still managed to find each other, the motions slow, lazy, less pressure and more petal-soft brushes. It was Sam who drifted first, when the morning light just barely began to pour over the horizon.

Heavy amber eyes took one last glance up at the moon door, at the light only barely beginning to fade the darkness away, and Gabriel decided that this was the time of day he loved the most of all.

The time when the sun and stars shared the sky.


	3. Part Three

Prince Michael’s coronation arrived on an icy autumn day, when leaves of gold and red crackled and shivered as they were coated in a glistening frost as gently as a lover’s kiss. The roads were slick with mud, and cleared of any traffic to make way for the grand parade of lavish guests meant to arrive at the Angel’s Keep for the celebrations. Dean watched them go by from his perch in a gnarled old redwood tree as Impala grazed quietly just below, nosing away mounds of leaves to get to the sweet, dewy grass beneath. The day was viciously cold, and Dean folded himself deeper into his woollen cloak, grumbling bitterly as his breath escaped him in little white puffs. 

He did this sometimes; took residence in the tallest tree he could find, and quietly watched the goings-on around the castle. Usually, he spent his time admiring the guards as they patrolled, at the way the light glinted off of the forged steel covering their bodies, at the way they held the weight of their swords or crossbows, always at the ready, but never enough to look too menacing. This was a sleepy village, and hardly much occurred, save for the nights when Prince Lucifer would lay waste to everything he touched. The guards rarely did much, but Dean found them fascinating, so much so that he began to study their movements, the little things that made them so different from any other man.

Different from him.

He didn’t see much, other than what they wore. There were no special qualities to these armoured men, besides their obvious strength and training and discipline, which could be easily taught to anyone with enough time and patience. It seemed as though anyone could join the royal guard if they showed enough promise.

Perhaps… even a stable boy.

Dean snorted and curled his frozen fingers closer to his body heat, banishing such foolish, childish thoughts from his mind. He was a strong fighter, at least given the fact that all he had to train with were wooden swords. He practiced every damn night, every damn morning before mucking the stalls. He’d built himself up, gaining muscle, widening his body and becoming stronger. His arms were wider now, his shoulders broader, his chest firm, though his belly remained soft due to his love for Aunt Ellen’s impeccable cooking. He could become a guard if he wanted, but the opportunity had never been granted to him. One needed to be invited to join the ranks of royal warriors, and such an opportunity had never come knocking.

And then there was Sam, who showed absolutely no interest in anything that occurred beyond the walls of Angel’s Keep, who kept to himself in his lonely little bookshop, who was now warm and cozy within the castle, surrounded by luxury and the armoured men that Dean had tried so desperately to impress.

Sam had done nothing but read a book to a Prince, and he was now exactly where Dean had always ached to be.

Was he envious? Viciously so, but Dean was aware that it was not his little brother’s fault by any means. Sam did not ask for this, it was granted to him. Perhaps Dean had been far too hard on him; far too hard on both Sam and Prince Gabriel, due to his own childish resentment and jealousy. 

He missed Sam. Missed his company, missed tripping over his piles of books in the mornings, missed having to split the last tart with him at the supper table, missed his laughter and his glares whenever Dean made an awful joke. Prince Gabriel now got to experience all of that, all of his wonderful quirks and everything special that made him Sam. Dean had no one. Dean had nothing.

He just wanted life to return to the way it used to be.

A great clamour nearby jostled Dean out of his thoughts, and he lifted his head toward the winding road that lead to the Angel’s Keep. He could hear the clatter of armour, and the sound of hooves clopping through the thick mud, so he craned his head around the nearly bare, skeletal branches to get a better look.

A group of about twenty men rounded the corner and rode steadily toward the castle, half of them donning the kingdom’s armour, and the other half wearing steel fashioned in an unfamiliar way, with cloaks of charcoal grey and violet, instead of blue. With them, violet and grey banners from a neighbouring kingdom flapped wildly in the wind, announcing the arrival of yet another guest to Michael’s coronation. Dean could not see the Lord or Lady hidden amongst the group of soldiers, but he supposed it did not matter. 

At the rear of the group, he spotted two familiar faces: Balthazar, the ever-so pleasant Captain of the Guard, and his squire… Castiel was his name, the quiet one, the one that intrigued Dean to no end, who piqued his curiosity and made him wish he knew more about the boy. Even at this distance, and with a hooded cloak draped over Castiel’s head, there was no mistaking those haunting blue eyes peering out from beneath. Impossibly blue, they had stopped Dean dead in his tracks upon first sight. So often were those eyes turned down to the ground in the few moments they had met, but there were times when, out of the tail of his eye, Dean had caught those eyes turned in his direction, if only for the briefest of seconds.

The party continued on over the bridge that lead to Angel’s Keep, but Balthazar and Castiel held back, guarding the road as the Lord or Lady safely made way into the castle. When they were finally alone, Balthazar pushed his own hood down and huffed a breath, gloved fingers raking back through short blonde hair. Castiel kept his on.

“That should nearly be the last of them,” he stated, patting his horse’s flank. “Lord Azazel need only make an appearance, but he tends to be fashionably late for any occasion. He and Prince Lucifer have a great deal in common.”

Castiel merely nodded, reaching into a woven sack at his side, and pulling free a handful of small apples. 

“Lucifer is not going to be pleased tonight,” Balthazar said darkly. “Michael has ordered the castle be locked down during the coronation and feast, and Lucifer is not to be allowed back inside until it is over. There’s no telling how well it will go, but I’ve a grim feeling.”

Once again, Castiel remained silent, leaning over and hand-feeding one of the apples to Balthazar’s horse. It nickered and shuffled happily. 

There was a pause, and then, “How are you feeling?”

Castiel shrugged.

“I know crowds tend to bother you,” Even from his vantage point, Dean could see the concern evident in Balthazar’s icy blue eyes. “We haven’t had a festivity this grand since before you came to live in the castle. I want to make sure you are comfortable.”

Dean had never heard such softness in Balthazar’s tone before. Frankly, he hadn’t a clue the man was even capable of it. There was something almost familial about the way the two of them interacted, like a father and son.

Castiel lifted his head and offered the smallest of smiles to the Captain of the Guard, which somehow caused Balthazar to ease, as though receiving an unspoken message from the boy. They understood each other in a way that did not require words.

“We’ll head back up the road soon.” Balthazar stated, reaching over into Castiel’s pack and snagging an apple for himself, which resulted in a few of them to spill out the side and thunk to the ground below. They rolled down the incline just off the road, scattering around the grass beneath the tree Dean sat perched in. “Gods. Damn flimsy thing.”

Castiel dismounted his horse in one fell swoop. His boots slid smoothly down the muddy incline, and he dipped down to scoop up the fallen apples. Dean held his breath, pressing further back into the rough trunk, cursing the gnarled branches for being so bare and devoid of anything to shield him from sight. At the sound of movement, Impala whinnied and hoofed at the moist earth, which shot Castiel’s blue-eyed gaze in their direction.

Damn. Damn. Damn it all. He was going to look like a spy if he was caught.

Castiel stared at the midnight black mare in silent awe, and Dean wondered if the squire somehow recognized his horse. Perhaps not. There was nothing too distinct about Impala, and Castiel probably saw dozens if not hundreds of horses in the castle stables. The mare shuffled, scenting the apples, and tugged at the reins which bound her tightly to the tree. 

Dean watched, curious and silent, as Castiel slowly approached the horse, eyes darting this way and that, perhaps searching for her rider. He looked everywhere but up, and Dean could not have been more thankful for that. Once the squire got close enough, he reached out, and ran a soft, tentative hand down her nose. Dean’s jaw dropped. Impala was a wild girl, impatient and stubborn, never liking anyone but Dean to go near her, much less touch her, but she nickered like an affectionate foal at the contact and nudged Castiel’s shoulder. 

And then, Castiel… smiled. Wide, so much that it crinkled the very corners of his eyes, and exposed brilliant and perfect teeth. He looked like a completely different person, and the smile only got more beautiful when he fed Impala one of the apples straight from his hand, and she allowed him to brush fingers through her mane while she munched.

And then Dean heard it.

“You’re beautiful…”

Castiel spoke. Quietly, like a murmur, but it was enough for Dean to catch and nearly make him topple out of the tree in shock. He covered his mouth with both hands to muffle the sound of genuine surprise that escaped him. Gods help him, Castiel’s voice was like the growl of thunder, so much deeper than Dean could have ever imagined. 

He had no idea the boy could speak.

Why did he never say anything?

“Castiel!” Balthazar called out. “Come along!”

The squire took a reluctant step away from Impala, but took the time to dump three apples on the ground at her feet for her to enjoy. He was just about to turn away, when suddenly, blue eyes slowly lifted to the trees and locked firmly onto Dean’s.

He was expecting Castiel to appear shocked, or angered. To cry out in surprise, maybe. But there was literally no reaction, as though the squire had known of his presence the entire time. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, viciously tight, and his heart all but seized right there in his chest. Their gaze held for one, two, three moments, the longest they’d ever looked at each other, before Dean caught the faintest sight of a smile flicker across Castiel’s face.

Their gaze broke.

And Castiel left, as silent as ever.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The Angel’s Keep was lit brightly with monstrous torches for Michael’s coronation feast, its white walls and marble floors lavishly decorated in lush fabrics in the kingdom’s blue. Sam spent most of his time hiding out in the library or within Gabriel’s chambers, away from the bustling crowds and panicking servants, from the lords and ladies and dukes and soldiers, all arriving on magnificent steeds and glorious wagons with banners waving in the respective colours of their families. The halls smelled of spices and sweets and mouth-watering delicacies that the kitchens were preparing, and even through the walls, he could hear the musicians practicing for the long night of dancing and drinking ahead.

Sam had no intention of attending the festivities, as commoners were only to celebrate in the villages away from the castle, and made plans to read the night away by the fire until Gabriel appeared behind him with an armful of shimmering violet and gold fabrics and a great grin spread across his features.

“What are those?” Sam asked suspiciously from his place by the hearth.

“Your costume, of course.” Gabriel held the fabrics out further and, in the light of the fire, Sam now noticed a striped sleeve, the end of a magnificent cloak, a jewelled belt.

He blinked. “My…”

“Try it on.” Gabriel tossed the clothes his way, causing Sam to scramble in order to keep them from hitting the floor. 

“W-wait… But, I’m not going to the feast.”

“Says who?” Gabriel quirked a brow up at him.

Sam shuffled, fingers curling into the silks and velvets, into fabrics woven so finely, it was as though he was skimming his fingertips across water. So smooth, so unworthy of touching his skin. These were clothes meant for a lord, a man of greatness. “I just assumed…”

“You assume wrong.” Gabriel smirked, and twirled a finger at him. “Come, come, we don’t have all night. Off with your clothes.”

Sam smiled softly, eyes trailing after Gabriel as he moved about the room, the firelight catching off the green and blue silks he wore. He was dressed magnificently, with wide puffed sleeves, an embroidered vest, a glistening silver sword at his hip, and a long cloak that was attached to only one shoulder by a shimmering silver pin. The outfit was tailored beautifully to his form. Gabriel was freshly shaven, bathed, and his golden hair was combed back with sweet-smelling oils that made the strands soft and light and bouncy as he moved. Sam felt a familiar tightness in his throat, so entranced was he that he hadn’t realized he’d been neglecting his own attire.

“You look beautiful,” he breathed.

The Prince turned, and quirked a brow in that arrogant way of his, though Sam caught the faint kiss of flush on his cheeks. “Quit getting distracted, Winchester.”

Sam grinned, set the clothes down ever-so gently upon the table, and began undressing out of his simple peasant’s attire. Gone were his boots, his simple dark trousers, leather belt, and forest-green tunic, leaving him in nothing but his underclothes, for modesty’s sake. He could feel Gabriel’s honey-gold eyes boring into the back of his head, skimming down his spine like a pair of warm hands, and Sam found himself shivering though he remained untouched. The silks Gabriel had brought him were soft on his skin, light and breathy, and fitting like a dream to his less-than average-sized form. The pants were tight, but comfortable, and the boots had a slight heel and a buckle much like Gabriel’s. He pulled on his striped shirt, deft fingers fussing with the odd ties and pins that ran all the way up to his throat.

“You’re taking too long,” the Prince suddenly said, stepping into Sam’s line of vision. He swatted the boy’s hands away, and took the fabric into his own. “Here, allow me.”

Sam stood still as stone, breath trapped somewhere in his chest as he watched Gabriel tuck the ends of the shirt into his trousers, and effortlessly work the ties that closed the shirt together. The back’s of the Prince’s fingers brushed across the warm flesh of Sam’s stomach with each clasp done, and Sam gasped suddenly when Gabriel’s hands fully slipped inside, and caressed the taut muscles of his stomach.

“Mm…” Gabriel purred, fingertips pressing into the boy’s ribs.

“Now who’s getting distracted?” Sam breathed through a grin.

The Prince clicked his tongue, lifting himself onto the tips of his toes to brush their mouths together. Sam chuckled, large hands practically swallowing up Gabriel’s face while he deepened the kiss. Gabriel’s lips were soft, cushioned, and sweet as morning dew. Sam took great care in kissing them, tasting them, like they were the most precious things in the world. He felt Gabriel shudder against him, before reluctantly drawing back, and doing up the final clasps of Sam’s shirt.

“Vest and cloak, and then you’re done.” Gabriel said, eyes foggy. “We don’t want to be late.”

Sam dressed quickly, the rolling sea of violet fabric draping off his broad shoulders and dragging along the rug behind him. He felt regal, important in these clothes. Standing next to Gabriel, he felt as though they were well matched. Perhaps the lords and ladies in the ballroom would see him, and think him worthy enough to be at the Prince’s side. He sat on the edge of the bed, and allowed Gabriel to brush his mussed hair, so he at least looked presentable, before finally standing and regarding his reflection in the mirror glass.

Sam could not help but stare.

He looked…

“Stunning.” Gabriel said softly from behind him. He felt the Prince’s fingers skim down the line of his back. “Absolutely stunning.”

Sam bit back a shiver, and stared at the other man in the mirror’s reflection. “Truly?”

“Truly.” The Prince smiled. “The regal look suits you. Perhaps you should don this attire more often.”

“For what purpose would I need to wear these clothes besides the ball?” Sam turned to look down upon him, hands raising to brush Gabriel’s soft hair from his brow.

“For my viewing pleasure only, of course.” The Prince’s golden eyes flickered. “When we are alone together, you could wear my cloaks.”

“Considering your size, it would be like wearing the clothing of a child.”

“You wound me.”

Sam snickered, hands sliding up under the Prince’s angular jaw, and tipping his head back. He leaned in, and brushed his mouth against the pulse point on Gabriel’s throat. Teeth grazed across pale, warm skin, which had the Prince gasping sharply in his arms. 

“Let’s get these celebrations over and done with,” Gabriel murmured, his voice a vibration against Sam’s lips. “I’ve a mind to get you filled with wine and back in these chambers by sunrise.”

The very thought had Sam’s stomach clenching wonderfully.

“Yes, my Prince.” He placed a gentle peck to Gabriel’s throat before straightening.

“I love it when you call me that.”

Balthazar was waiting for them just outside, clad in freshly polished armour with a cloak that matched the blue draperies covering the castle. Castiel was with him, donned in the same armour as Balthazar; real soldier’s armour made of finely forged steel plates, not the flimsy stuff he used to wear for sparring. He looked good in it, handsome, and flashed Sam the faintest of smiles as they made their way toward the commotion of laughter, talk, and music. 

The feast was held in a ballroom that was entirely made up of marble, as white and bright as a cool winter’s day. Tall, magnificent windows made up two of the four walls, and glorious columns draped in blue fabrics soared upward to a vaulted ceiling finely painted with the images of winged men at war. Women in grand gowns and men in fine cloaks talked and drank and danced, their fine clothing like a sea of luscious colour across the great white expanse. There was a table overflowing with food; suckling pig, peach tarts, fresh fish, roasted potatoes, frozen berries and sweet cream, rosemary lamb, and so much more. A band of flutes and harps and lutes joined together in playing a cheerful melody that rose to the ceilings and made Sam’s foot tap along to the beat while the lords and ladies swayed and danced together.

Gabriel scooped up two goblets of cool berry wine from a nearby table and handed one to Sam, his eyes focused solely on the boy, though most of the people in the room would have been familiar faces to the Prince. Sam smiled, bashful, and brushed the backs of their hands together, which ultimately led Gabriel to entwining their fingers.

“Where’s Michael?” Sam asked over the roar of chatter and music.

Gabriel leaned up, placing the rim of his own goblet to Sam’s lips and tipping it forward until the boy drank. “Mm… Probably on his shiny new throne, greeting people and all that dull nonsense.”

Sam gulped down the wine, tongue lapping at the sweetness of it that clung to his lips. The alcohol pooled in his belly, and sent pleasant warmth all throughout his limbs. They made way for the tables, and fed from plates of potatoes and suckling pig and sweet tarts, while Gabriel pointed out all of the Lords and Ladies that strolled by, telling Sam their names and anything embarrassing or scandalous that he knew. Many a time did Sam have to muffle his laughter with his hand, lest he choke on his meal in front of such esteemed guests.

They spotted Michael at the very end of the ballroom, seated high on a platformed throne which overlooked the entire expanse. The chair was exquisitely carved in steel and silver, with six magnificent wings protruding from the back of it, making their new King look like the winged creatures Sam saw depicted in tapestries and paintings all throughout the castle. There was a silver crown on Michael’s head, and he looked none too pleased as Anna bent over and murmured something softly in his ear.

Gabriel pushed through the crowd and climbed up to the throne, while Sam, Balthazar, and Castiel remained at the foot of the platform.

“Someone looks cheerful,” Gabriel stated, planting himself on Michael’s lap.

“For Gods sakes, Gabriel!” Michael grunted. “Have some dignity.”

“I’ve plenty.” The Prince smiled and offered his eldest brother a goblet of wine. “For someone who was just named King of the entire realm, you don’t look at all pleased. Is the party not grand enough for you? Shall I have Crowley dance on the tables with naught but a bucket on his head like last year’s Winter Solstice Festival?”

“That was one bloody time!” Came a shout from the crowd, and Balthazar burst out laughing.

Michael didn’t even crack a smile. 

“What’s wrong, Michael?” Gabriel’s voice lowered, his usual smirk fading.

The King sighed. “Anna has just informed me that Lucifer is just outside the castle gates, and he isn’t happy. He’s screaming, demanding he be allowed in, but the guards will not obey him. He’s armed and, unfortunately, we’ve lost two men to him already.”

“He’s killing people?!” Sam blurted.

“I’d a feeling this would happen…” Balthazar muttered under his breath.

Michael momentarily removed his crown to rake fingers back through his thick dark hair. He seemed at a loss for what to do.

“You honestly can’t let this continue,” Gabriel said. “He’s murdering innocent men.”

“What would you have me do? Arrest him? Cause a scene in front of all of these people?”

“Whatever it takes. You’re the King.” Gabriel growled. “Fix it.”

Michael and Gabriel locked eyes and held the glare, and Sam could practically see the air crackle with power and defiance around them. 

“Speak with him. Try and make him understand why I did this. If he still does not cooperate, I’ll have him arrested at once.” Michael commanded quietly. “You’re not the one he is angry with. Perhaps he’ll listen to reason if it came from you.”

“Doubtful.” Gabriel slipped off his lap and stood. “He gets his stubbornness from you.”

The Prince seized Sam’s hand in his own, and firmly tugged him away, disappearing deep into the crowd. Balthazar and Castiel followed close behind. They pushed through the throngs of chattering people, ignored the greetings of familiar Lords and Ladies and the offering of wine from a passing servant, and headed for the main castle gate. Sam took long strides to keep up with Gabriel’s quick pace, and entwined their fingers tightly together, thumb pressing into the palm of the Prince’s hand and stroking slow circles.

“Are you alright?” He whispered.

Gabriel sighed, but did not voice a reply.

Sam heard the shouts before they exited the castle, Lucifer’s roar filling the icy night and echoing up over the stone battlements. The guards stationed above, their crossbows at the ready and their bodies layered in boiled leather and wolf’s fur, watched with fearful eyes as Gabriel approached the gate, and stood behind the twisted iron bars that kept him separate from his brother. Lucifer was on the bridge just beyond, sword swinging and splintering the wood railing as he hacked angrily.

Sam would bet there was enough wine in the Prince’s blood to take down three men.

“Lucifer…” Gabriel called out softly from his place beyond the gate.

Icy blue eyes snapped forward, and so intense was the glare, that Sam had to physically take a step backward, nearly colliding with Castiel.

“Sweet little brother,” Lucifer cooed darkly. “I see Michael sent you in his place. How typical.”

“What in the name of the Gods are you doing, Lucifer?” Gabriel asked, fingers curling around the metal bars.

The Prince barked out a laugh, nearly hysterical. “What am I doing, he asks! I’m trying to get back into my own home, Gabriel! Open the bloody gates this once and let me in!”

“No.” Gabriel said firmly.

“No?”

Gabriel lifted his eyes to the guards on the battlements, and nodded once. There was a great clamour of metal, and then the gate began to rise. Lucifer took a stride forward, but stopped dead when the sharp ring of unsheathed steel filled the night, and Gabriel had a sword aimed at his throat. Gabriel slipped out from under the gate, and held his weapon at the ready, standing between his brother and the only way back into the castle.

“Such disloyalty you have, little brother,” Lucifer spat, eyeing the sleek steel pointed his way. “Threatening me, of all people? Was I not the one to teach you to walk? To sing songs with you and take you on your first ride through the valleys? Did I not teach you tricks, and steal extra sweet cakes from the kitchen to give to you when you were grounded to your chambers?” Something flashed in those icy eyes, and Sam wasn’t sure if he would consider it sadness or madness. “This is how you treat me?”

“Do you think I want to do this?” Gabriel kept his voice strong. “With the way you’ve been behaving as of late, we’ve all had to sleep with the cold press of steel in our fists. You’re out of control, Lucifer, and I can’t tell if this is some monstrous temper tantrum, or a way for you to gain attention—Michael’s attention.”

Lucifer grew quiet.

“That’s it, then?” Gabriel asked softly. “You’re trying to get Michael’s attention?”

Sam watched quietly from where he stood, Balthazar and Castiel at his back. He could see them both with fists held firmly around their magnificent swords, waiting for the moment when they’d have to defend their Prince. Sam prayed they wouldn’t ever have to.

“You miss him just as dearly as I do.” Lucifer said, bitterness in his tone.

“But you don’t see me wreaking havoc throughout the villages.” Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “Have you even attempted to speak to Michael about this?”

“He doesn’t listen.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Michael has responsibilities. He’s King, now, and you and I are just going to have to deal with the fact that the realm and the people come first. They will always come first.”

Lucifer’s chest puffed, and his knuckles whitened around the hilt of his sword. “No!”

As Lucifer’s sword suddenly swung up in a graceful arc, Sam instinctively came forward with every intention of protecting Gabriel from the blow. The weapon, in fact, did not even come in contact with the Prince, but instead sliced off another large hunk from the bridge. Sam stood frozen, his form no longer concealed by the shadows of the castle wall.

Lucifer’s stare found him instantly.

“You…” The elder Prince breathed. “…you must be joking.” Sam’s flesh crawled as icy eyes ran down his body, taking in the sight of the royal silks he just remembered he was wearing. “You allowed this… this peasant into the castle, into the feast, and yet I remain here in the cold? You take away his rags and dress him in royal garb like he belongs here?!”

“Lucifer…” Gabriel warned.

“This is it, isn’t it? This is what this all means, hm? I’m being replaced. Replaced by these pathetic, useless commoners. I’ve been degraded and forced to stand in the ice and the wind while this boy dines and dances by the warmth of a crackling fire and the company of my family.”

Gabriel raised the tip of his sword slightly higher. “Lucifer. Calm down.”

“I’ll kill you.” Lucifer breathed, his gaze boring into Sam’s skull. “I’ll kill all of you!”

And then it happened. Lucifer was charging at him, moonlight catching off the blade of his sword, power and energy pumping through his limbs. Sam shut his eyes, sent a prayer to the Gods, and waited for the inevitable blow of steel to his flesh.

What he received, instead, was the jarring sound to his ears of steel clashing against steel. Sam gasped, feeling strong hands snatch him by the silks at the back of his neck and yank him backwards until he came tumbling down into the slick, frost-bitten mud. Eyes wide, he stared up at Castiel, who stood over him with his blade unsheathed and at the ready. Through the squire’s legs, Sam saw Gabriel and Lucifer, battling fiercely, their swords slicing at the air, whirring and whistling as they came down upon each other. 

He did this. He turned two brothers against each other.

“No…” Sam tried to sit up, but Balthazar’s hand was suddenly on his shoulder, keeping him still.

“Stay down, boy,” the Captain hissed.

Lucifer charged forward, but Gabriel was swift, dancing backwards across the bridge and just barely avoiding a slice across his belly. The mud sloshed under their boots, splashing the beautiful green silks covering Gabriel’s body. 

“I will not…” Gabriel grunted as he blocked a blow. “…I will not kill you, brother!”

Lucifer snarled. “Then you’re a fool.”

Steel swung upward with an ear-piercing whistle, and there was nowhere Gabriel could go. The tip of the blade hit its mark, and sliced Gabriel from hip, across his belly, and then his chest, and his shoulder. The Prince cried out, sword dropping from his fist as he tumbled backward, body tipping over the bridge railing and landing with a splash into the river below.

“NO!” Sam shrieked.

Balthazar was on Lucifer before Sam had a moment to react, throwing the elder Prince to the mud and knocking the steel from his fist. Lucifer snarled and thrashed, but the Captain of the Guard held true, pinning him down firmly. The clatter of steel behind Sam told him that a horde of soldiers were coming to aide, but his mind was lost, focused only on the red swirling in the waters below.

Sam pushed passed Castiel and ran for the water, boots sliding down the bank where he splashed into the river. He gathered up Gabriel’s small body and cradled him to his chest. There was blood, Gods so much blood, and Sam tried his best to cover the wound with his own cloak and shaking hands, but it was too big, too deep.

Gabriel stared up at him with hazy golden eyes. 

“Gabriel…” Sam felt tears build, and trickle down his cheeks to mingle with the river water. 

A hand lifted and brushed against the boy’s face, and Sam held it there, shaking. 

“You’re going to be all right, my Prince,” he whispered, kissing Gabriel’s palm. “I promise, I swear, you will be all right.”

Gabriel could not speak, but Sam could see the agony in his eyes, could see the flicker of his life dwindling with each passing moment. He didn’t have much time.

“Castiel!” Sam shouted. “Bring me a horse! Quickly!”

Among the chaos, the squire spun around at the sound of Sam’s voice, nodded once, and took off at startling speed toward the stables. Pressing his brow to Gabriel’s, Sam prayed to the Gods that he would return in time.

“Please don’t leave me, my Prince. Please don’t leave me.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Pain.

That was all Gabriel knew. A searing, blindingly agonizing pain that made his stomach churn and knot up, that made his vision swim and his hands and feet go incredibly numb. He was vaguely aware of his surroundings, of the sickening warmth and wetness of his own blood soaking the front of his body, of an uncomfortable jostling as though he was strapped to a horse running at full gallop, of the heat and familiar scent of Sam Winchester’s body against his. 

He could see nothing distinctive. Nothing but darkness, and the whirring shadows of passing trees, faint lights. The stars. He could see the stars above him, still and silent in the night sky even as the world sped passed at a staggering blur. Breath escaping him in short, shallow gasps, Gabriel kept his eyes to the stars. 

The violent, rocking movement suddenly slowed, and Gabriel groaned, eyes squeezing shut as another wave of incredible nausea came over him. He could feel the burn of bright light behind his eyes, and a familiar voice calling out.

“Sam! What in the name of the Gods…”

“Dean, help me carry him inside!” Sam urged, his arms curling around Gabriel’s body. 

The world suddenly tilted, and Gabriel whimpered in searing white hot agony as his body was moved, eased as gently as possible into the waiting arms of what he assumed was Dean Winchester. He reached out, desperately seeking out Sam, seeking out some form of familiarity and comfort, and a large hand instantly found his and closed around it.

“I’m here,” Sam murmured softly. 

Warmth greeted him. Gabriel was indoors, that much he could tell from the sound of crackling flames nearby, the scuffle of boots against wooden floors, and loud scrape as chairs were shoved aside and toppled over with a clatter. He was laid down, then, on something hard and flat. A table.

“Oh heavens above, Sam, what happened?”

That voice was female. Must have been their aunt.

Sam’s hand was still closed tightly around Gabriel’s, and he was shaking. “He’s hurt, Aunt Ellen. Real bad. It was Lucifer.”

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

“I think so… I mean I used my cloak to cover it.” Sam’s voice cracked. “Aunt Ellen, I can’t let him die.”

“Shh, shh… Let me see…” 

There was another set of hands suddenly on him, small and careful as they pushed away the layers of cloth bound to the Prince. Gabriel forced his eyes open and, through his hazy vision, he could see the color drain from Ellen’s face as she took in the wound. It must have been far worse than Gabriel thought, and the sudden realization made him want to retch.

“You can help him, right?” Sam asked desperately.

She looked grim. “I’ll do all I can.” She turned away. “Dean! Fetch me a bucket of water, some linen, and my needle and thread. Hurry!”

There was a thunder of boot steps that sounded as though they faded upstairs, followed by muffled shuffling right above their heads.

“Help me get him undressed.” Ellen said. “We need to see the entire wound.”

Sam and Ellen worked quickly, unbuckling and unfastening the layers of beautiful silks that Crowley had so passionately crafted for him, going so far as tearing the fabric right from his body in order to get to the flesh beneath. Gabriel hissed, his fingers digging into the wooden table beneath him as the blood-soaked silk was peeled from his torn flesh, tugging at it in some places. The pain was blinding, and he cried out.

“Shh…” Sam stroked his hair soothingly as Gabriel trembled through the agony. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Gabriel whimpered. “S-Sam…”

“You’re going to be all right, my Prince,” Sam brushed a kiss to his hairline. “Just lie still, and try and stay awake. Can you do that?”

Left in nothing but his blood-spattered trousers, Gabriel met those hazel eyes and nodded. He began to shiver, and he wasn’t sure if it was from cold, fright, or he’d lost more blood than was normal. His entire body felt heavy, drained of all strength and energy, and Gods how he ached for sleep. The room was spinning.

Dean returned with a bowl sloshing with water, an armful of fresh clean linens, and a little wooden sewing box. He set them down on the table next to Gabriel’s body, and he and the Prince locked eyes for a moment. From what Gabriel could tell, there was genuine fear there.

For what reason, Gabriel didn’t know.

“Sam, help me clean him up. I can’t see anything through all this blood.” Ellen dipped some cloth into the water, and began to gently wash away the dried and dripping blood from around the wound with as much care as a mother. Gabriel whimpered, the water icy cold, and each time he shivered from it, another pang of pain wracked his body. He clenched his eyes shut, and focused on the feel of Sam’s large hands on him, scrubbing and wiping away with as much care as possible. 

No, no, shutting his eyes was not a good idea. That only caused sleep to tug him further into the darkness, beckoning and seducing him with tendrils that coiled around his mind and begged him to slip away. Gabriel forced himself awake, and instead stared up at the aged wooden beams on the ceiling. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

“How does it look?” Sam asked softly.

“It’s much deeper at his hip and stomach. The flesh is barely holding itself together. Everything else does not look as bad. This needs to get treated or else it will fester, and he’ll-”

“Don’t say it.”

Ellen tossed the blood-stained cloths to the floor, and set the bowl of water aside. She hurried off, and returned with a dusty bottle of what looked like wine. When the cork popped, the pungent scent of it hit Gabriel’s nose. It was strong. One cup of that would have a man wobbling. 

Just as the woman was about to pour the contents of the bottle over Gabriel’s wound, the front door to the Inn flew open with a bang, and a flurry of icy wind and autumn leaves. Michael stepped inside with billowing cloak and eyes widened in horror, followed closely by Balthazar and Castiel, their swords still unsheathed. Everyone in the room froze where they stood, and Michael rushed over, pushing passed Sam to get to his youngest brother.

“Gabriel…” The King seized his hand, worry pooling at the corners of his green eyes and trickling down his cheeks. “Oh Gods have mercy, look at you.”

The Prince was unable to speak passed the lump built in his throat at the sight of his brother in such distress. He hadn’t seen Michael cry since they were small boys. Hesitantly, Gabriel reached up and brushed his tears away. Michael only let out a small, wrecked sob.

“This is my fault,” Michael whispered. 

Gabriel shook his head firmly. He would not have his brother blame himself.

“My King…” Sam’s soft voice caught Michael’s attention. “My Aunt Ellen is going to help him.”

Michael frowned and looked at the older woman long and hard for a few moments. “If you save my brother’s life, I and my Kingdom will be indebted to you until the end of days.”

She straightened. “I will do everything in my power, my King.”

“Good.”

He stepped back and allowed for Sam to move in again, and the boy pulled in a chair and sat directly behind Gabriel’s head. He cradled the Prince’s face in his large hands, keeping their eyes locked in a gaze that spoke a thousand unspoken words between them. Gabriel was glad for this, for if he were to slip away from this world and join the land of death, he wanted Sam’s face, his beautiful eyes, to be the last thing he gazed upon.

He opened his mouth to say something to the boy, but was cut short as Ellen poured the wine over his wound. The pain nearly made him black out, and he screamed, the sting like a molten hot fire searing him from the inside out. Sam brought his head down until their faces pressed together, and gently rocked his head in a soothing rhythm.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” the boy whispered over and over again.

Michael was holding one of his hands. He could tell by the softness of them, and the cool press of his golden rings against Gabriel’s palm. Balthazar was holding the other. There was no mistaking that grip, and the calluses built up from years of handling weaponry.

Ellen was threading her needle, and Gabriel knew what would come next. More pain, slow and mind-numbing as his wound was closed stitch by little stitch. It would probably take hours to get it done.  
He locked eyes with Sam, and kept his focus oh him and him alone, knowing this boy would be the only thing keeping him strong. Sam was his strength, and Gabriel would slay the horseman of Death, would sell his very soul to the devil himself, if it meant one more moment with him.

He prayed he would live long enough to tell him that. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________

“Will he live?” Sam asked softly over the sloshing sound of his aunt washing and scrubbing Gabriel’s dried blood from her hands.

Hours had passed since he’d first brought the Prince into the Inn. Hour after painstaking hour did he hold Gabriel and sooth him with soft words and touches as his wound was sewn shut and bound in layers of soft bandages. It had been an agonizing ordeal to watch, and Sam could not imagine how it had been for the Prince. More than once Gabriel had nearly blacked out, had nearly faded away, but Sam had kept him conscious, kept him fighting. His eyes were puffed and sore, his throat ragged. He’d cried too much tonight.

Now, Gabriel was resting. He and Dean had settled him on the floor of the Inn, shoving aside the tables and chairs and laying down quilts and furs to keep the Prince warm and comfortable by the crackling hearth. There was no way they could manage to get him upstairs to the beds. Not in his condition. Michael and Balthazar were with him, keeping him company while Sam helped his aunt clean up. 

Ellen was frowning, and she picked up a clean rag to dry off her hands. “I don’t know, Sam.”

He turned to look at her sharply. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“The damage was severe, Sam.” She said, sadness in her tone. “I did all I could, but I’m no healer. He lost a lot of blood, and there’s no telling how badly his insides are hurt after the attack.” She came over, and cupped either side of Sam’s face, staring deeply into his eyes. “You need to be prepared for… whatever may happen.”

“No…” Sam stepped back, the sting of tears returning to his eyes. “No, there has to be more we can do.”

“There isn’t.” Ellen said. “Just stay with him, and make sure he is comfortable. These next few hours are critical. Anything could happen. If he survives the night, then there’s more of a chance that he will be all right.”

Sam swayed, and caught himself on the kitchen doorframe.

This was his fault.

“He…” A warm tear ran down his cheek. “He got hurt because of me. He was protecting me against Lucifer. If I hadn’t been there…”

“No, shh, shh.” Ellen took both of his hands in hers. “Don’t blame yourself. I will not have it.”

“I can’t lose him, Aunt Ellen,” Sam began to sob. “I can’t…”

She pulled him into an embrace, and Sam pushed his face into her shoulder to muffle the anguished sounds coming out of him. Her fingers carded through the back of his hair, and she began to hum; a soothing lullaby that never failed to calm him when he was a boy. It helped.

“Go get changed, Sam. Put something else on.” She drew back and looked down at his silken clothes from the Coronation, which Sam just noticed were stained in Gabriel’s blood.

“Oh God…”

Sam stumbled back, and made way up the narrow wooden stairs that led to the bedroom he and Dean shared. His hands were shaking, and he began to tear at his clothes, wanting them off, wanting Gabriel’s blood off of his body. The glorious silks he once thought too beautiful to touch his skin, too glorious to ever be worn by a commoner, were now horrible blood-stained reminders of what he was so close to losing. Layer by layer his costume and underclothes came off, and he flung the ripped and tattered fabric clear across the bedroom until it collided with the wall. 

With a basin filled with fresh water, Sam bathed quickly, scrubbing his skin and hair clean of Gabriel’s blood. He washed himself twice over, even though he could no longer see the spatters of red on his body, his eyes blurring with tears every moment he thought about the time when Gabriel had taken Sam into the castle stables and washed away the blood from when Lucifer sliced open his cheek. By the time he dried off, Sam was spent, and his head had begun to pound mercilessly. He dressed into his own clothes; layers of clean and warm fabrics and wools that had never before felt so good. 

Downstairs, his Aunt Ellen had left him a cup of hot apple cider, which he cradled in his shaking hands. Each sip filled his belly with warmth, and he barely had the strength to look up when Dean entered the kitchen carrying an armful of firewood.

“You look like all seven levels of hell,” his brother said softly as he piled the wood by the kitchen hearth.

Sam stared down at his reflection in the apple cider. “I feel like them, too.”

Dean crossed the room and stood before Sam, placing both hands on each of Sam’s broad shoulders, the weight of them bringing comfort to the youngest Winchester in ways that he could not express. It took a few moments for him to look up and meet the green eyes he knew so well.

“What happened tonight?” Dean asked softly.

Sam swallowed hard. “He saved my life. Lucifer… he made a move to hurt me, to kill me, and Gabriel stopped him. He put himself in danger…” His throat began to clench, and he looked away.

Dean said nothing for a beat, and then, “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize. He isn’t dead, yet.”

“No, no, I mean…” Dean sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating him. It wasn’t fair. I never gave him a chance.”

“You were being protective,” Sam shook his head.

“No. I was jealous.” Dean admitted, eyes falling to the floor shamefully. “My dream had always been to be in that castle and I was never offered that chance. And then Gabriel came along and gave it to you, instead. Then you left and he was able to spend every moment with you and I was all alone here at home.”

“Dean…”

“It was wrong of me to take out my anger on him.” Dean cut him off, and Sam was surprised at how much Dean was telling him. His brother had always been prideful. “Please, if there is anything I can do to help, tell me.”

Sam managed a smile, albeit a soft one, and gave Dean’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’re here. That helps.”

He pushed his way into the main room just in time to nearly collide with Michael and Balthazar. Sam frowned worryingly. They both looked positively wrecked.

“How is he?” He asked softly, glancing over Michael’s shoulder at the blanketed form curled up in front of the roaring fire.

Michael’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s in pain, and exhausted. He’s starting to speak a little more, but he tends to drift in and out of consciousness without realizing. I have never seen him so weak.”

Sam knew his hands were shaking when he felt the warm splash of apple cider hit his fingers from where is sloshed out of the cup. “He’ll… he’ll be fine. He needs rest after all he’s been through.”

“May the Gods heed your words, Sam.” Balthazar said grimly.

Sam took a breath to steady himself. “My King, what… happened to Lucifer, if I may ask?”

“I had him locked away.” Michael replied. “Deep down in the bowels of the castle where he can’t hurt anyone else. He’ll remain there until I figure out what to do with him. Until then, my focus is entirely on Gabriel.” Those haunting green eyes found Sam’s, and there was nothing but sadness within them. “If it would not trouble you, could we stay here until my brother is well again?”

Sam blinked. “My… my King… you’re asking my permission?”

“I am not your King tonight. I am Gabriel’s brother. I’m just Michael.”

With a sweep of his arm, Sam gestured to the staircase. “We have a few rooms available upstairs. Find one and it is yours for as long as you wish. They aren’t very big but my aunt always makes certain the quilts are warm and the beds are comfortable.”

“Thank you,” Michael nodded once, and then disappeared up the creaky wooden steps, his cloak trailing behind him. 

Balthazar clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Castiel is just outside tending to the horses. When he returns, send him to a room as well? The boy should rest.”

“I shall.”

Once Sam was alone, he made way to Gabriel’s side, and knelt on the sea of blankets spread out across the wooden floor. In the light from the crackling fire, he could see the beads of sweat dancing across the Prince’s brow, could see how much color his cheeks had lost. Gabriel was stark naked under the blankets, as all of his clothing had been drenched in blood, river water, and muck. He shivered as Sam brushed tender fingers through his silken hair, before those amber eyes fluttered open to look at him.

He looked close to death.

“Hi,” Sam whispered with a soft smile.

Gabriel stared up at him for a few moments, before managing a faint, “…Hi.”

“I brought some apple cider,” Sam said, holding out the cup. “It’s warm and sweet. Would you like some?”

When the Prince nodded, Sam moved closer, and gingerly slipped one large hand behind his head, cradling it and lifting it from the pillow. Gabriel winced with pain, but managed to stay upright just long enough for Sam to place the cup to his lips and tip it forward. He drank deeply, almost draining the entire cup, before settling back down again with a shuddering sigh. Sam set the cup aside, and leaned in to delicately kiss away the sweetness from Gabriel’s too-cold lips, tears springing into his eyes when the kiss was weakly returned.

“How is the pain?” He asked, settling in next to the Prince. Sam lay on his side and kept Gabriel the closest to the fire. He needed to stay warm.

“Mm… Tolerable, for the moment.” 

“Aunt Ellen says you did very well,” Sam smiled, dancing around the truth. “Just a bit of rest, and you’ll be back to yourself in no time at all.”

Gabriel snorted softly, turning his head so that the very tips of their noses brushed together. “I’m not an idiot, Sam.”

“What…”

“I know a lost cause when I see it,” Gabriel took in a breath, and hissed, hand coming up to rest on his belly, where the wound was the deepest. “T-this thing… has more of a chance of killing me than I have of b-being all right in the end.”

“Don’t say that,” Sam breathed.

The Prince shook his head. “It’s the truth.”

“No!” Sam seized Gabriel’s hand in his. “No, I will not allow you to give up so easily. You are damn well going to keep fighting this, you are going to get better, and I don’t care what I have to do to make that happen.”

Sam hadn’t realized he’d been crying until one of Gabriel’s hands weakly came up and brushed away the fresh wet streaks on his cheek. He shut his eyes, and pressed his face into Gabriel’s palm.

“P-please…” he pleaded softly. “Please… I can’t… This was all my fault…”

The soft hand at his cheek was gone, suddenly replaced by a firm grip at his jaw, and Sam’s face was jerked around to stare into a pair of blazing amber eyes.

“What?” Gabriel almost growled.

Sam swallowed. “You… you got hurt defending my life. If I hadn’t been there, this would have never…”

“Shut up.”

He pressed his lips tightly shut.

“Going against Lucifer was my decision,” Gabriel said, voice faltering with pain. “He… he would have snapped eventually, Sam. You saw him. He was riddled with madness. An attack was inevitable, and you not being present would not have made a difference.” The grip to Sam’s jaw softened, and the Prince’s fingers crept up into the boy’s thick chestnut hair, still damp from his bath. “In fact… if you hadn’t been there, I would probably be dead. You pulled me from the river, you brought me here. If I had b-been alone, I would not… n-not have made it.”

Sam didn’t even think of that…

“I owe you everything,” Gabriel murmured. “I owe you everything and more.”

“You owe me nothing,” Sam said, bringing their mouths together one more time, wincing when he could taste the bitter tinge of blood on Gabriel’s tongue. “Now stop speaking for once, and let me hold you.”  
Sam’s arms curled around the Prince and drew him close, but not enough so that it would bring forth anymore pain. Gabriel turned his head and tucked it under the boy’s chin, hot breath dancing across Sam’s bare throat. Nose buried in Gabriel’s hair, Sam stared ahead, watching the flames in the hearth lick at the wood, watched them dance and crackle and spark over the howl of wind outside. He could faintly make out the beginnings of snowflakes through the window.

In that time, Sam thought of his books, of the stories he’d read telling of the hero losing the love of his life at the end of the tale, despite his best efforts, despite all he had fought for, all they had done together. The hero was always all right in the end, was always strong, despite the aching emptiness left inside of him. It made his throat clench, and his arm curl around Gabriel just a little bit more. He could feel the Prince’s uneven breathing, feel his shallow inhales and his shaky exhales, feel him struggle through the ebbs and throes of pain. 

He wished there was more he could do.

He didn’t want to be like the heroes in those books.

He didn’t want that emptiness.

“Shall I tell you a story, my Prince?” He whispered softly into Gabriel’s hair, fresh tears blooming into his eyes and clogging his throat.

Gabriel shifted, tilting his head up to look upon Sam with exhausted eyes. His voice was rough. “You don’t have a book.”

“I don’t need one.”

Gabriel’s brow arched curiously, and then he nodded.

Sam settled in comfortably, took a steady breath, and began. “Once, long ago, there lived a magnificent Prince who wore a cloak made entirely of stars. He was beautiful and golden, spreading his cloak across the great expanse of sky to bring forth the night and the heavens. On his back, he carried the galaxies and constellations and the falling stars that children would wish upon, and the people loved him for it. But, the Prince was lonely up in the heavens. He had no one to speak to. The Moon was there, but he was too important, too busy being King of the night sky to take time for the Stardust Prince, shining light down on the world.”

Sam could feel Gabriel’s shaky fingers tracing idle patterns on his collarbone as he continued, “The thing was, the Stardust Prince had an admirer, though they had never met face to face. The Sun, who banished the darkness and brought light and warmth to the world, was very fond of the stars. You might say… he was in love with them.”

Gabriel stilled in his arms, and Sam almost felt a flood of worry fill his veins, until the Prince lifted his head and stared up at him in quiet disbelief. 

“Did…” Gabriel whispered. “Did the stars love the Sun in return?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied, heart suddenly battering against his ribcage. “Did they?”

A single tear fell down the Prince’s cheek. “…Yes. Yes, very much so.”

Their mouths crashed together, lips desperately seeking lips, hands finding hands and closing together. Sam licked into Gabriel’s mouth, ignoring the blood he could still taste, ignoring how weak the Prince’s fingers felt in the back of his hair, how he could feel each hitch of painful breath. Sam kissed him, and thought only of the Prince’s sweetness, of his laugh and his eyes, and how viciously he loved him with every ounce of strength he had. Sam kissed him until he felt unpeeled, and raw, and vulnerable to the world. 

Kissed him until all he could think of was the terror he felt if he should lose him.

Gabriel drew back from the kiss, and breathed, “I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t,” Sam said firmly. “Because the stars are strong and vibrant, and even when the blackened clouds come forth and threaten to blot out their light, they still manage to shine through. They are relentless, they are unstoppable. That is what the Sun loved the most about the stars. That is what he has always loved.”

Gabriel audibly swallowed, and curled himself closer to Sam. “Keep talking.”

And Sam did. “When the Stardust Prince heard of the Sun’s affection for him, he tried desperately to meet him face to face. But, each time the night came to an end, and the Sun rose up from behind the hills, the light he brought would make the stars invisible. The Sun could not see him.” 

He slipped one hand beneath the blankets, and settled it on Gabriel’s chest, over the layers of bloodstained bandages, and felt for the Prince’s heartbeat. Still strong. Still there.

“For days and days the stars would attempt to stay in the sky just a little bit longer, but it was no use, the Sun just shone too bright, and the Prince was ready to give up. That is, until late one night, when the Prince’s cloak was still draped across the sky, the Sun peeked his head up over the hills to get a look at him, and ended up filling the world with a light so pale, it still allowed the stars to shine. At last, they were together, and from that day until the end of days, their moment sharing the sky would eternally be known as the Dawn.”

They lay in silence for a few long moments with Sam’s story lingering in the air above their heads, the words echoing themselves. He had no idea where this story had sprouted from in his mind, how the words had formed so easily in his head, but it seemed to bring comfort to the Prince, his trembling having eased and his breaths coming out in slower, even bursts.

“…Sam?” Gabriel whispered.

“Yes?”

The Prince pushed closer, his voice muffled in Sam’s throat. “Tell it again.”

Sam was happy to repeat the story over and over again for as long as it took, if that is what would keep that beautiful heart beating against the palm of his hand. “Once, long ago, there lived a magnificent Prince who wore a cloak made entirely of stars…”

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean found Castiel in the stables at dawn. 

He’d gone in search of him once he realized that he did not occupy any of the rooms upstairs. Cold, pale light, and the first gentle snowfall of the season greeted him outside, and he marched across the yard behind the Inn, his boots kicking up the freshly fallen flurries and sending them spinning through the air. A faint flickering glow could be seen from deep within the stables, and once Dean stepped inside, he noted that one of the oil lamps had been lit, and was swaying back and forth with the wind from where it hung overhead. 

Castiel was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of the stall where Impala quietly fed on her oats, his cloak spread out beneath him so the mud and hay didn’t muck up the rest of his clothing, his back facing the stable doorway. His head was bowed, and he had taken most of his armour off, setting it aside along with his undershirt and sword and leaving him in only his trousers and boots. It was the coldest morning they’ve had yet, and Dean couldn’t imagine being outside without layers.

And that’s when he saw them.

Scars.

Dozens of them. Dark, brutal, violent scars spread over every inch of Castiel’s strong, sinewy back. They were long, some spreading from his shoulders or the back of his neck all the way across his ribs or down passed his hips. No blade did this, nor arrow.

These were whip marks…

Castiel must have felt Dean’s eyes on him, must have sensed another presence in the silence of the stables, for he was suddenly turning his head. The moment he noticed Dean in the doorway, he was on his feet, cloak swept up from the ground and wrapped around his body to conceal himself and the scars.

“I’m sorry,” Dean came forward, lifting his hands in defence. “I… I wasn’t sure if you were in here. I came looking for you.”

Castiel did not meet his eyes, didn’t even turn to face Dean’s direction. He kept his head down, shamefully, his dark hair mussed and falling over his eyes. He did not speak a word, not a single damn word.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Dean said softly, stopping just feet from where Castiel stood. He did not want to crowd the poor boy. “What are you doing out here?”

The squire shook his head, still silent, still refusing to meet Dean’s eyes.

This was like attempting to approach a spooked horse.

Dean risked one more step forward. Castiel did not retreat. “I heard you yesterday in the woods. You spoke, I know you did.” He dipped his head down, to peer at Castiel’s lowered face. Their eyes met, and Dean offered a smile. “Your voice… it’s nice. Really nice. Did you know that? Like quiet thunder, if that even makes sense.”

Gods, he sounded like an idiot.

Even Castiel was looking at him oddly.

“I’m sorry,” Dean cleared his throat and straightened, pushing a hand back through his own, frost-bitten hair. From her stall, Impala whinnied and shuffled for Dean’s attention. He smiled, reaching over Castiel’s shoulder to give her flank an affectionate stroke and pat. “She likes you, you know. You’re one of the only people in the world that can approach her without her getting upset. Not even Sam can do that. Though, that might be because he’s just as large as she is.”

Castiel snickered. It was soft, but Dean heard it clear as a bell.

“Touch her, if you’d like,” Dean whispered. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

And Castiel did. Keeping one hand closed around the cloak, he reached out with the other and began running fingers through Impala’s silken black mane. She snorted, and did not shy away, welcoming the touches as her tail flicked happily. That same, wondrous smile that crinkled the corners of Castiel’s eyes and exposed those lovely teeth appeared once more, and Dean allowed himself a moment to stare. To truly stare.

The boy certainly was a sight to behold. Strong, squared jaw covered in a light dusting of scruff, graceful neck, and soft pale skin. His eyes looked as though they were plucked from above, their color just as beautiful as the sky on the clearest of summer days. His hair was dark as night, lush and sticking out in every direction. His lips, full and beautifully defined, looked dry from the cold, and Dean found himself wondering how they would feel upon his, how they would taste…

His eyes dropped lower, down the lovely column of Castiel’s neck, and to one of his broad, bare shoulders. The cloak had slipped off somewhat, and Dean could see the very tip of one of the scars, could see how deep the wound must have been, how badly it had healed. Without thinking, Dean lifted a hand and placed gentle fingers on the raised flesh of the scar.

Castiel flinched away immediately, stumbling back out of Dean’s reach until his rear hit the door to Impala’s stall.

“I’m sorry, I…” Dean’s brow furrowed, hand still extended toward the squire. He was apologizing an awful lot lately. “What happened, Cas? How did you get all of those scars?”

No response. No surprise.

“You can trust me.” Dean said.

Castiel just shook his head, and Dean could have sworn he saw the beginnings of tears dancing in his eyes. And then, suddenly, he spoke, and there was so much strength in his voice, so much despair, that it all but broke Dean’s heart.

“Sometimes, things are just better left unsaid.”

And with that, Castiel was gone, sweeping out of the stables and back toward the Inn, leaving behind his clothes, his sword, and a heavy weight upon Dean’s chest.


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, at long last. I'll admit, I cried like a baby once I finished this. I'll miss this little story of mine.
> 
> Here there be smut. 
> 
> Please, enjoy!

Gabriel was cold. Unmoving.

All color had drained from those perfectly soft cheeks, his lips had become blue, his body limp and devoid of life as Sam cradled it in his arms. He shook Gabriel's tiny body, softly at first, and then with more desperation, begging him, screaming at him to awaken as tears poured from his eyes. He ran his fingers through that silken hair he adored so much, placed a shaking hand over his chest to feel for that heart, that heart that had captivated him so greatly, had owned him from the very start. Stillness greeted his palm, no patter, no beat.

His heart was dead.

Gabriel was dead. His Prince, his love, was dead.

"No… No, No! No! No, Gods, please no!"

Sam wailed into the silence that surrounded him, and yet no one came. Even the fire had gone quiet, blackening to ash in the hearth. Not even the faintest ember glowed there. He wailed, and screamed until his throat was raw, drawing Gabriel's lifeless form to his chest and soaking his hair with his tears, crying for his Prince as he rocked back and forth.

He wanted to tear his heart from his chest, how it ached. He wanted to spill his own blood across the blankets and aged wood, and fall dead at Gabriel's side. He cursed the way his own chest beat with life, the way his lungs burned with air. He did not wish to live now that his stars had been snuffed out. The sun should not be allowed to shine again.

Body wracked with sobs, Sam felt the soothing caress of fingers at the top of his head. Long, gentle, unfamiliar fingers. They carded through, petted and curled themselves into the back of his thick hair, before suddenly gripping unforgivably tight and giving a sharp tug. Sam gasped, head suddenly yanked backward until his neck strained, tears dripping down to his temples. There was a brush of warm lips to his ear, the wash of hot breath, and the cool press of steel along his exposed throat.

A blade.

"This is all your fault, you know…" Hissed a voice, Lucifer's voice, in his ear. "Poor, sweet Gabriel… You did this. Not me. Gabriel is dead because of you, Sam."

Sam was shaking. "N-no… No…"

"Yes…" Lucifer hissed, serpentine tongue flicking at the lobe of Sam's ear, making him squirm in disgust. "You know what happens now, don't you?"

The blade sliced cleanly across Sam's throat.

And he awoke with a shout.

Sweat beaded on his brow, poured down his back and down his jaw. He was shaking, the main room of the Inn still a sleep-hazed blur, as he brought a hand to his throat and felt for the slice. His flesh was intact, though he swore he could still feel Lucifer's breath at his ear, hear that wicked velvet-smooth voice slither into his mind. Sam whimpered, and covered his face with his hands. He could hear the shuffle of footsteps upstairs, the faint crackle of a small fire still somehow living on in the hearth, and his own heartbeat pounding like war drums in his ear.

All at once, his stomach lurched, forcing him to his feet. Vision still clouded over with sleep, Sam stumbled his way into the kitchen and threw himself over the window ledge so that he may empty the contents of his stomach onto the snow outside. He wretched and coughed, mind swimming with exhaustion and fear with each agonizing heave, and hands trembling in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. His grip on the window ledge tightened until the wood nearly cracked beneath the pressure, whilst dark hair clung to the boy's clammy brow. He could feel rivulets of sweat traveling down the curve of his spine, reminding him all-too clearly of brushing fingertips until Sam was forced to bat away phantom hands that were not there.

Straightening, Sam used a nearby rag to wipe his mouth clean and dab away the sweat that had bloomed on his neck and face. He returned to the main room, then, sleepily staggering forward with naught but the light of the nearby fire to beckon him back. It was then that he heard it.

"Sam?"

His gaze snapped up at the sound of the voice. There on the floor, Gabriel's head was lifted from the pillows, his expression haggard and his hair mussed from sleep, but his golden eyes were bright again, cheeks carrying the faintest flush of color. The blankets had slipped down to his hips, exposing the bloodstained bandages still wrapped tightly around his torso. He stared at Sam with worry, brows drawn up.

"Are you all right?" He asked softly.

Sam was on him in a second.

Gabriel released a small sound of surprise when Sam crossed the room and was practically on top of him, showering his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes and brow and chin in a sea of kisses. He remained gentle, though. Oh Gods, was he gentle, knowing full well that his Prince had yet to even begin to heal. He cradled that face as though it was made from the most fragile crystal, placed kisses upon his cheeks the way a snowflake would settle on skin. The sheer knowledge that Gabriel had survived the night, was alive and laughing softly in his arms, made the tears spill ever quicker from Sam's eyes to fall upon the Prince's face like a gentle summer rain.

Gabriel's faint laugh made his heart soar. "Sam, what are you-"

"You're alive." Sam murmured, cutting the Prince off with even more kisses to his sweet mouth. "You're alive, you're alive, you're alive."

Gabriel giggled when Sam's mouth found a particularly ticklish part of his neck. "Sam…"

"I love you," Sam whispered into his throat.

The Prince shuddered against the hot wash of breath against his flesh, before releasing a sharp hiss of pain when his back arched a little too far. His hand fell upon the bandaged wound as he whimpered.

"I'm sorry," Sam frowned, running tender fingertips across the bloodstained bandages. "These, um… These need to be changed."

With reluctance, he drew himself away from Gabriel and fetched some more fresh linens, scissors, and a clay bowl of cool, clean water. Sam drew the blankets down further, so as to access the entirety of Gabriel's wound, and he tried to pay no mind to the sinewy stretch of body beneath them, the sharp cut of those hips, and that soft sweet stomach that he's wanted his mouth all over since the first time he saw it. The blankets settled at Gabriel's hips, and Sam would not help but think about the fact that the Prince was bare and the day his mother birthed him under them. Gabriel was breathing deeply, the slight hitches betraying how much pain he was still in.

"I'll be quick, alright?" Sam whispered.

He slowly snipped away the thick layers of bandage his aunt had bound the Prince in from hips to shoulders, watching as the fabric fell away from his body. The blood was dry, which was a good sign. It took longer than expected to cut away the endless expanse of bandage but, soon, Gabriel was rid of them, and the long slice of wound was finally revealed in the pale dawn light. His aunt had done an outstanding job with the stitching, and it looked nowhere near as awful as it had the night before. The flesh around the wound was still red and swollen, so tender and sensitive.

Miraculous it was, indeed. Given that Angel's Keep did not, in fact, have a healer on staff at all hours of the day, and would have needed to call on one in order to treat Gabriel, the Prince would have surely died had Sam not acted in time and brought him to the one place where the boy had always known comfort. After all, Ellen had been the one to stitch his cuts, mend his aches, and kiss every bump and bruise both he and Dean acquired while growing up. There would have been no one better to turn to, in Sam's eyes.

"It looks good," Sam commented, dipping a strip of fresh linen into the cool water. He dabbed at Gabriel's skin, making slow swipes, soothing the ache.

Gabriel released a shaky sigh as droplets of cool water tickled down his ribs. "It'll leave a rather large scar, unfortunately."

"So?" Sam offered a smile. "Scars are beautiful."

The Prince looked at him as though he were daft. "How so?"

"They tell stories. Stories of survival and strength. Each one shows a time when your life was put at risk, and you danced with the horseman of Death." He met those amber eyes. "You were strong enough to survive something that not many would have, and this scar will tell the world that. It is a badge of courage."

Gabriel's smirk was slow, yet in no way condescending. "Your way with words could get you into a lot of trouble one day, Sam Winchester."

"Hasn't it, already?" Sam grinned. "I mean, they did attract the attention of this mad little Prince, and now look where I am."

Once Gabriel's wound was freshly cleaned, Sam bound it back up again with soft, clean bandages, and drew the blankets back up to the Prince's neck to keep him warm and well. Gabriel smiled sleepily as Sam brushed petal-soft kisses to his face.

"You had a nightmare," Gabriel whispered, concern knitting his brows together.

Sam brushed it off with a shake of his head. "I'm fine."

"It didn't seem that way."

"Truly, I am," the boy insisted. "I can barely recall what it was about."

Gabriel did not seem convinced. "You're a terrible liar." When Sam did not respond, he felt the Prince reach out and brush the backs of his fingers down his jaw line. "He is locked away, you know. Michael told me. He will never again threaten to bring you harm."

"I do not wish to speak of him, anymore." Broad shoulders trembled through Sam's exhale, and he leaned into Gabriel's touch. "Are you hungry?"

The Prince's reply was a breath of sound. "Not for food."

A rush of warmth filled Sam's body from toe to hair follicle, as though a fire had been lit at the very core of him. He swallowed, hands shaking somewhat as they curled themselves into the blankets keeping Gabriel's naked form away from his hungry eyes.

"We… I cannot…" How in the name of the gods did Gabriel still manage to fluster him so? What did he expect him to do? "You're injured, Gabriel. Too harsh a movement, and that wound could open up again. It's still far too fresh."

"I won't move, much." The Prince's hand had somehow snaked its way beneath Sam's tunic. Those warm fingers splayed across the muscled plane of his stomach, and teased at the beltline of his trousers. Goosebumps skittered across Sam's body. He nearly groaned at the touch, at the ache. "Let me make you feel good. Let me take your mind off things."

"Gabriel…"

"Please."

There wasn't much Gabriel could say that Sam would not obey. He was ensnared, utterly at the mercy of his Prince. He lay himself down against Gabriel's side, weight on one elbow so that he could gaze down into the honey-sweet depths of those eyes. Reaching down, he worked slowly at unbuckling his trousers, aware of the Prince's fierce gaze searing into him until it practically branded his very bones. Sam's breathing began to quicken, and he released the softest hiss when at last he drew himself free of the fabric confines. The weight of his hardening length was heavy in his palm.

"My, my," Gabriel purred. "Aren't we impressive."

Sam's cheeks burned with an unimaginable heat he felt reach his ears. He was glad for the way his bangs swung down and shielded his eyes, and he watched breathlessly as Gabriel reached out and curled those wicked, knowing fingers around him. Sam gasped sharply, body bowing forward until their brows pressed together, and he could feel Gabriel's heavy breaths bathe his parted lips in warmth. Sam could practically taste his desire for him.

"Quietly, now," Gabriel whispered. "Don't want to wake the house, do we?"

Sam was already beginning to tremble. Shutting his eyes, he allowed himself to give in to the feel of the Prince's hand gliding over him, fingers curling around his girth and beginning a firm, almost achingly slow rhythm. The boy made a small sound, hands desperately clutching the fabric of the blankets beneath until his knuckles bloomed white. He felt unworthy of this attention, of this… Gods, he could only call it worship.

Gabriel was incredibly thorough in his touches. His hand moved down the thick base until his fingers buried themselves in the soft, downy curls, and then drew back upward inch by inch so that his thumb could circle around the swollen crown and swipe up the clear droplets beading there. He was able to rotate his wrist in a way that had Sam seeing galaxies behind his closed eyes, each pump igniting a spark of pleasure that had made his toes curl and his spine arch like a stretching cat.

"G-Gods above…" Sam whimpered. "Gabriel…"

"I am going to have you inside of me," Gabriel practically growled into his ear while the quickening strokes seemed to punctuate his words. "When I am well, again, I am going to make vicious love to you, Sam Winchester. I am going to throw you down onto my bed and ride you until you forget your name. You will not leave my bedchamber until I am through with you. Do you understand me?"

Sam could only groan as he buried his face in Gabriel's shoulder. His hips began to move, then, thrusting forward into the Prince's grip, which only tightened the coil that had begun to wind itself up in the pit of his stomach. It would not be long, now, especially with the images Gabriel's words painted in his mind's eye. Gods, how he ached for it. To bury himself within the heat of his Prince's body, to leave him trembling and begging and crying out Sam's name until it echoed off the castle's marble walls. Until all of Angel's Keep… no, until the entire bloody realm knew that this sweet Prince belonged to a peasant boy.

Yes, how beautiful it would be.

"G-Gabriel…" Sam nearly sobbed with pleasure. "Please… p-please I'm… I'm…"

"Let go, my love," Gabriel murmured. "Look into my eyes and let go for me. Only me."

It did not take more than a few more strokes before Sam's entire body had seized up. Just as he lifted his head to look down into his Prince's eyes, it was as though the very Heavens had exploded into existence before him. Bursts of color and starlight danced into his vision and he threw his head back, lips parting in a silent cry. Gabriel kept stroking, hand moving along his shaft in a rhythm equal to Sam's heartbeat as the boy bucked forward. Stream after stream of his hot release stained the blankets, but Gabriel would not cease until Sam all but collapsed on the floor beside him, softened and utterly spent. The boy lay in silence for a few moments, chest burning with struggled breath, the wooden beams above them spinning. His cheeks burned red, even more so when he caught the smug look Gabriel was giving him.

"Wipe that b-bloody smirk… of your face…" Sam panted through a grin.

Once tucked back into his trousers, Sam crawled closer and claimed Gabriel's mouth in a passionate kiss. The golden eyes staring up at him were filled with life and love.

"That was worth…" Gabriel whispered between hitched breaths. "…every ounce of pain that I am currently in…"

Sam furrowed his brow, and gave Gabriel's bandages a quick check. No blood had soaked through, from what he could tell. "Pain?"

"Slight, yes. Probably from tensing. My muscles were not quite ready for how… fierce you are." The Prince grinned. "But, like I said: worth it."

"Your priorities are completely backward, you know that?" Sam shook his head.

"I've a vague knowledge of it."

There was a thunder of boot steps from above, before Dean appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking weary from their long night. He yawned, pushing fingers back through his sandy hair, a nightshirt hanging loosely from his broad, lean shoulders.

"Is he dead, yet?" He asked sleepily.

"Dean!" Sam snapped.

The elder Winchester snorted. "Relax, will you? I can see the bloody idiot's eyes open from here, Sam. It was a joke."

Sam was about to open his mouth to protest, but was cut off by the soft laughter of the Prince.

"You know, Dean, if this Princely nonsense ever bores me, I may have a future in the stable business. I think your brother would agree that I am exceptionally talented with my hands."

Sam felt his face, his neck, his bloody ears heat up to a thousand shades of crimson.

Dean, on the other hand, went as pale as the face of the moon. "I'm going to go drown myself. Excuse me."

Once Dean vanished into the kitchen, most likely to dunk his head into a pot of stew until the bubbles stopped, Gabriel shot a triumphant grin up at his lover. "I think he likes me."

"You're a horrible person."

"I know."

Sam smiled and nuzzled their faces together, the nightmare long forgotten.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

The bathwater was soothing against Castiel's skin, warm enough to drive the chill of the morning's patrol from his bones, to banish the shakes and shivers away. With the light of afternoon seeping into the little room Ellen had given him, he allowed his eyes to drift closed, head falling back against the edge of the basin. Water trickled from his soaked hair and down the planes of his face. It dripped from his nose, his chin, ran like tears down his cheeks and swept across his lips.

The flesh of his back felt marvelous in the water. It was always so tight, so sore, feeling as though the skin pulled and caught with every movement he made. That was what happened when one had scars as deep as he did; scars that were once wide, unforgiving wounds that had been smothered in salt until he shrieked and lost consciousness over and over again.

Even after years, the very thought of that event still made Castiel nauseous.

This morn marked the end of the first week that they had stayed at Winchester Inn.

Prince Gabriel was recovering well, his wound mending itself little by little as the days pressed on, relieving him of pain and allowing him to sit up on his own, and even stand for a few moments at a time. Sam was constantly by his side, bringing with him meals and drinks and sweets, piling books around them to read while the fire blazed in the hearth. Castiel recalled one night when he crept down to the kitchen in the late hours for something to eat, and found them kissing, slow and gentle, not for lust's sake but to simply savour the taste of the other person. A deep, hollow sensation filled his gut that night, and he returned to his room with appetite lost.

Castiel had never been kissed.

King Michael was growing restless day by day; Castiel could see it. As patient as he was in overseeing the care of his youngest sibling, Michael was still the King of the realm, and had mounds of responsibilities awaiting him at Angel's Keep.

They would be leaving soon.

Castiel sighed and pushed fingers back through his hair. In the seven days that he'd been in the company of this family, since that first morning in the stables, Dean Winchester hadn't said a word to him. Yes, indeed there were glances, the brief turn of eyes across the room or over the dining table, but no words were exchanged. Castiel firmly believed it had to do with the scars on his back.

Perhaps Dean was disgusted by him.

No… No, that was not it. The eldest Winchester had displayed nothing but genuine concern for Castiel when he saw the markings on his skin. And Castiel had shunned him away; shut him out like he did to everyone who attempted to get close.

Dean was avoiding him because he felt awful.

Reluctantly, Castiel dragged himself from the bath. The bedroom air greeted him with a wash of cool breeze which sent galaxies of goose bumps scattering across his form. He dried off quickly, shaking the water from his hair while he used a soft cloth to scrub the moisture from his skin.

He slipped back into his boots and pulled up his trousers, buckling his belt and leaving his scabbard and sword where they lay. He wouldn't need them for lunch. Without need of any armour, he threw on a simple blue shirt that hung loosely from his broad shoulders and made for the door.

But, when Castiel opened it, he was shocked to find Dean Winchester standing just beyond, a fist raised as though he was just about to knock.

They stared at each other.

Honest and truly stared.

Gods be good, Dean Winchester was… indescribable. There were women in this world who were not blessed with the amount of beauty he possessed. He had soft green eyes that reminded Castiel of the grassy fields in summer, long lovely eyelashes, high cheekbones and a strong, powerful jaw. His skin was dusted in freckles, and Castiel imagined staying up late into the hours of the night to count them one by one.

"Um…" Dean finally lowered his fist. "Can I speak with you?"

Castiel hesitated one, two moments, before stepping aside to allow the stable boy access to his quarters. He slipped inside, and seemed to take in his surroundings; from the basin filled with cooling water, to the neatly made bed, to the sheathed sword set across the pillows. Castiel shut the door quietly and leaned his back against it, eyes tracing Dean's silhouette against the light from the blindingly snowy world beyond the little window.

"Michael said you'd all be leaving tonight, so I wanted to say this before you left." Dean wrung his hands together, almost nervously. "I… I am sorry for making you uncomfortable the other day. Truly, I meant no harm."

Castiel watched as he began to pace.

"I know what happened to you isn't any of my business, and I feel awful if anything I said or did caused bad memories to arise." Dean continued. "I should not have bombarded you with so many questions."

Pushing his weight from the door, Castiel stepped forth and approached the other man, his footfalls silent against the wooden flooring, as a soldier's should be. Dean didn't notice.

"If you don't want to speak, you don't have to. Forcing you was not my intention, and I apologize if I came off that…" It was then that the stable boy turned and saw Castiel standing merely inches away, cutting his sentence and driving the ramblings from his mind. "…way."

Castiel tilted his head and gave Dean's lips a good, long look with narrowed eyes. They looked soft, plush, not like his own dry, cracked ones. The cold was never good to them. Dean's lips were parted ever so slightly, leaving a tiny little "o" in between that made something in Castiel's chest flutter in ways he'd never experienced before.

"Cas…?" Dean breathed.

One of Castiel's hands settled on Dean's chest and then pushed, backing the stable boy up step by step across the bedroom. Their gazes did not waver, not even when the back's of Dean's legs hit the side of the bed, and he sat himself rather gracelessly upon it. Castiel, on the other hand, remained on his feet between Dean's parted legs

With shaking hands, he reached for the hem of his shirt, and drew it up. With every inch of his skin exposed, Castiel began to feel far too vulnerable, and yet Dean's eyes only grew softer, his breathing became quicker, and his lips parted just a bit wider.

For the first time in years, Castiel was not afraid.

Once free of the garment, and feeling bold, Castiel climbed onto Dean's lap and straddled it like a saddle. Dean's breath hitched. He heard it clearly. Felt it beneath him. The stable boy's hands lifted, but remained floating in mid-air, as though unsure if whether or not he was allowed to touch.

Castiel took them in his own. They were rough, calloused, a worker's hands; warm to the touch and broader than his. At first he thought Dean was the one who was quivering, but it was not so. He was shaking. Dean was making him shake.

"Cas?" Dean's brows furrowed in concern.

"I'm all right," Castiel whispered, and still he could see the shock in Dean's eyes, like he was still overwhelmed by the sound of the squire's voice. It was becoming far too easy to speak around him. "I'm… I'm all right."

Slowly, Castiel guided Dean's hands behind him and pressed them down flat just above the beltline of his trousers, right on his lower back. He felt the weight of those hands, the roughness of that skin, right on his scars. He felt robbed of breath, and began to shake once more.

It was then that Dean used his hands to gently ease Castiel forward until chest collided with chest. The squire gasped softly, but did not shy away, awestruck at how Dean's head nestled into the crook between Castiel's neck and shoulder with such effortless ease. They remained that way, breathing together, eyes falling closed, even as Castiel felt the familiar sting of tears dance behind his eyelids.

Dean was warm and solid. The clothes he wore were simple and soft, and he scented of spice and sweat and pine trees. He felt like a blanket after a rainfall, a hot bath after a long night of patrols, a crackling hearth during a snowstorm.

He felt like home.

He felt safe.

Castiel opened his eyes, freeing the tears trapped there and allowing them to fall and stain the back of Dean's shirt. Dean's hands were moving across his back; so slow, so agonizingly slow. Fingertips traced over each scar, following the path they created in his flesh, like an artist tracing over the lines of a drawing.

"It was shortly after my eleventh year of birth…" Castiel breathed. "I was living in a little town far from here, in a castle not nearly as grand as Angel's Keep. It was owned by a Lord named Alastair. He was cruel, slithery, and he had a twisted fascination with torture and pain. I was made a servant there. It's where they sent most of the orphans who could not find a home."

It was then that Castiel noticed Dean's head was turned enough to brush his nose along the scruff on the squire's jaw. The intimacy of it set Castiel's body alight.

"The Lord had a daughter named Lilith. She was just as wicked, just as cold, and only a child of six. She scared me more than her father did. One day, I walked in on her in her room, where she was supposed to be playing with the little servant girl that was forced to be her companion." Castiel's throat tightened. "Lilith… she had practically flayed every bit of skin from the poor girl's little legs. There was blood everywhere, staining the little flowered bedspread and pooling amongst the dolls on the floor. I can still smell it sometimes."

He didn't know why he was saying these things. Why, after years of silence, it was all pouring out. He couldn't stop speaking, even if he tried.

"I ran out, but I did not go to the Lord. I left the castle and tried warning the town, tried telling someone, anyone what I saw. Someone had to know what was really happening in that place. But the guards got to me, first, and brought me before Alastair." He felt the tears build again. "He… he punished me… for trying to tell someone."

Dean's voice was barely audible in its breathiness. "You were whipped for talking."

Castiel nodded. "The whippings lasted for two days. The man doing it was very good, and knew how to keep me alive through it. I was chained up and whipped in the middle of the courtyard while the servants and Lords and Ladies passed by like I was nothing. Crowds of people surrounded me, and it was as though my screams were music to them." He was softly sobbing, now. "I can't even begin to describe the pain, especially when they salted the wounds so that they could never heal properly, so that the agony would go on and on and on…"

"Shh…" Dean's arms were strong as they embraced him.

"I ran after that," Castiel said. "I ran, and I ran, and I never looked back. I ran until I ended up here, and found a job in a blacksmith's shop. I never spoke a word after that day. Not until Balthazar came, but even then I never said much after telling him my story, and it took him months to get it out of me."

Dean pulled away gently, just enough so that he and Castiel could lock eyes. Hand still pressed against the squire's back, he lifted the other to thumb away the tears beading on Castiel's dark lashes. It made him shudder and sigh.

"And now?" Dean whispered, brows drawn. "You choose to tell me these things. Why? Why me and no one else?"

Castiel shook his head. "I don't know. You… notice me."

"Hard not to." Dean smiled, and yet his gaze never wavered from the squire's face to the exposed skin of his body.

Somehow, that made Castiel's cheeks swell with heat more than any lustful look ever could. "I'm… I'm quiet, so I'm easily overlooked by most people. But you see me. You've seen me from the very start and you care. I didn't realize that until after that morning in the stables when you saw my scars." He lowered his eyes. "Truly, I did not mean to storm off the way I did. I was frightened."

"By what?"

Castiel turned his head slightly, enough to catch the tip of one of his scars that swept across his shoulder, so dark against his pale skin. "By you seeing how wretchedly ugly they are."

The silence that followed was drawn out, until all Castiel could hear was the sound of his own nervous breathing. Dean's hands fell from his body, and a brief flicker of dread washed over the squire, before he noticed Dean reaching down to peel off the shirt he wore, exposing his own chest. He pointed to a long thin scar that ran along his collar bone.

"I got this when I was nine," he stated. "I fell from a tree one summer while picking apples, and a branch cut me up."

Castiel watched as Dean pointed to another marking on the inside of his left wrist. "This was a burn I got when Sam was ill at age ten, and I was responsible for making him soup while our aunt and uncle were out. The pot was fresh off the fire when it slipped from my hand and landed on my wrist. It was one of the most painful things I've ever experienced."

Taking one of Castiel's hands, he led it to one more scar on his soft stomach. Castiel swallowed at the warmth that greeted his fingertips and palm.

"This one was more recent. I was practicing my sparring skills alone in the stables, and a nail sticking out from one of the posts caught in my shirt and cut me pretty deeply. My aunt needed to stitch me up while I was given a damned earful of scolding." Dean lifted his eyes and looked at him with such unquestionable affection. "I know I don't have as many as you, and mine are not nearly as severe, but do you find me ugly now that you see them?"

"No…" Castiel breathed. "You're beautiful."

Why did he say that?

Oh Gods help him.

"I feel the same way about yours." Dean smiled while his thumb brushed across Castiel's shoulder scar with the softness of a kiss. "Your scars display your survival, your courage, and your strength. At least that's something my brother would say. They are beautiful, Cas, because they are a part of you."

Shutting his eyes, Castiel fell against Dean, and allowed himself to be held while the shadows moved slowly across the bedroom walls. He forgot entirely about his hunger for lunch, about the snow and the bath the scars on his back. All that was, and ever would be, was his comfort, and the overwhelming sense of acceptance and peace that washed over him. He let his shoulders slump, his breathing even out, and his hands embrace the other man just as tightly.

"You're a rare man, Dean Winchester." Castiel whispered.

"Is that a good thing?" He could practically hear Dean's smile.

That, in of itself, made Castiel smile brighter than he ever had. "Yes… Yes, a very good thing."

___________________________________________________________________________________________

"What do you mean I can't come with you?" Sam demanded.

Michael was turned away from Sam while he slipped into his fur cloak, the falling snow dancing around them and settling on the King's raven hair. A glorious wagon had arrived at the Inn from the castle at sunset, and Gabriel had already been laid down inside of it, bundled up in a good six blankets to keep the chill away. The sky above them was streaked in reds and oranges, like the canvas of a painter.

Sam's breath escaped him in puffs of white that vanished into the air like coils of smoke. Around him, Balthazar and Castiel were getting the horses ready, the forged steel covering their bodies clinking in the quiet winter evening. He'd forgotten to put on his own cloak, and he could feel the muscles of his chest and arms and shoulders tensing viciously.

Was that because of the cold, or his anger?

He could not say.

"Sam," Michael turned to face him with a sigh. His cloak swept around them, bringing up flurries of snow. His effortless grace was overwhelming, sometimes. "I can never be thankful enough for what you and your family have done for my brother, but the issue at hand is not yet resolved."

He knew the King was talking about Lucifer, and all at once, Sam's dream came flooding back into his mind. His stomach began to churn.

"Gabriel needs me," Sam whispered. "I need to take care of him."

"He's well enough, now." Michael stated. "He is no longer at risk, and can continue the healing process in the comfort of his own chambers."

"But…"

"Sam." Gabriel's voice sounded off from beneath the mountain of blankets. He had one of his hands reached out, and Sam went for it instantly, closing it in-between both of his own.

"Gabriel, please talk some sense into your brother," Sam pleaded. "I want to come back to the castle with you."

The Prince was nestled so deeply under the blankets, and the very tip of his nose was reddened from the cold. He smiled softly up at him. "You will. But, right now, you need to stay with your family. I have been keeping you away from them for too long."

Sam swallowed hard and looked over his shoulder at Dean, who was assisting Castiel in getting his horse reined and saddled. Spice-scented black smoke was tumbling out of the Inn's chimney from where Aunt Ellen was cooking the plump boar their uncle had brought home from his week long hunt. Down the road, Sam's little bookshop waited for him, and upstairs he had a bed right next to Dean's.

He had a life here. A family, and a purpose.

But, without Gabriel…

"We will see each other again," Gabriel whispered. "I swear on it. But, Michael believes that our own family issues need to be dealt with first. After all, that is the reason why I am in this mess, and I do not want you back in that castle if your life is still being threatened."

As much as Sam longed for a reason to object, he knew Gabriel was right. The Princes needed time together, to reform that bond and figure out what to do in regards to Lucifer's behaviour. He couldn't stand in the way of that.

"We're ready, my King," Balthazar called out.

As the King mounted his stallion, Aunt Ellen emerged from within the Inn, carrying a bundle of hot honey plum tarts that still steamed in the frost-bitten air. She laid them in the wagon next to the Prince, and offered a gentle smile.

"You're a goddess, my Lady," Gabriel grinned.

"A Lady I am not," She shook her head.

"Goddess it is, then," The Prince reached a hand out, and clasped it with hers. "I owe you my life, Ellen. Truly. If there is anything in this realm or the next that you should ever need, call upon me and it is yours."

"Just stay well and strong, and keep our kingdom safe," Ellen said.

"You have my word."

Michael rode close. "And mine."

Sam glanced over his shoulder and watched as Castiel climbed up onto his saddle, the heavy armour he wore clanking and rattling with each movement. The sound soldier's made in those suits tended to remind Sam of a kitchen, when many pots fell and clattered together on the floor in a jarring crash of iron and steel. He could hardly imagine how any of them snuck up on unsuspecting enemies.

Dean was standing close by, fingertips stroking the flank of Castiel's gentle mare while the squire curled gloved hands around the leather reins. The falling snow settled like dust upon Castiel's dark hair, and sat precariously upon each armored shoulder.

"Ride safely," He heard Dean whisper.

Castiel's eyes rose to meet Dean's, and Sam found himself stricken by the familiarity of the look they shared.

Respect. Affection. Longing?

Interesting…

"Will you be alright here?" Gabriel's voice brought Sam's attention back. "Winter is coming quickly. Will you and your family be safe and warm?"

Sam smiled. "With the amount of gold you left us, I think we'll be just fine."

"Will you miss me?" Gabriel's brow quirked.

"Not really," Sam shook his head. "But I will miss that library."

"I bloody knew you were using me for the books."

Sam laughed, kneeling down so that he could press his brow to Gabriel's, and nuzzle the tips of their frost-bitten noses together. The Prince hummed softly, eyes falling closed, and Sam feathered a slow, lingering kiss to his mouth. Normally, he would not display such obvious affections for his Prince in front of others, especially Michael but, at this point, Sam cared not. Gods only knew how long it would be before he saw Gabriel again. He wanted to savour this.

"I adore you with every breath that fills my body, sweet Prince," he whispered.

"And I you." Gabriel said.

There was a growing lump in his throat. "Be sure to keep resting. Don't over exert yourself."

"I know."

"And make sure you have a servant change your bandages every day, so your wound stays clean."

Gabriel smirked, reaching put to tuck Sam's chestnut hair behind his ear. "Will you stop fussing over me?"

"No," Sam frowned bashfully.

With reluctance, Sam placed one last kiss upon Gabriel's palm, and drew himself away. He stepped back, joining Dean and his Aunt Ellen as the carriage began to pull away with Michael and the two soldiers following closely behind. Sam swallowed hard, feeling Dean's hand on the small of his back. The touch grounded him.

"You'll see him again," his brother reassured him softly.

Sam could only nod, staring ahead as the carriage and horsemen grew smaller until finally disappearing out of sight.

The silence that followed was deafening.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

FOUR MONTHS LATER

The winter had been harsh. Great winds howled in from the north, groaning like the dead through the soaring mountaintops and bringing forth a mighty rush of white that thickly blanketed the land below. The barren earth slept on beneath the glistening snow, and the forest had been reduced to a mere graveyard of skeletal trees; their bare serpentine branches twisting up toward the heavens, begging the Gods for spring's sweet mercy. Mighty fires blazed on within the many hearths of Winchester Inn, beckoning anyone in desperate need of warmth and a hot, hearty meal. Furs purchased from traders now draped across each bed, and the pantry sat fully stocked with enough goods to keep their stomachs full as they waited out the dreary days together. On mornings when the frost did not bite so fiercely, Bobby and Dean would even set off on a quick hunt in search of meat to roast. However, to return from the woods with anything more than a single rabbit was a rarity now. Sam did not recall a previous winter that had pressed on as relentlessly as this.

Had it not been for Gabriel's gold, surely they all would have perished.

Warmth arrived soon enough, however, and the bite of winter gave way at last to spring's gentle rainstorms. The village, which had been deathly still for months, had come alive again with farmers and traders and shop owners filling the muddy roads as they went about their business now that the snow had seeped away. The breeze that billowed in through the bookshop windows carried with it the scent of moist earth and the sound of birds greeting the morning light with their sweet song. Sam moved about his shop quietly, hair a touch longer than it had been—just barely brushing his broad shoulders—and jaw dusted over with a dark beard. There was no longer a need to own such an establishment, what with his family now fully provided for thanks to the generosity of the royal family, but the boy saw no reason to give up his books, nor the shop that had been passed down to him by his father. If it now only left him with an extra place to read, then so be it.

It was not the library in Angel's Keep, but it would do, and he would cherish it always.

Using the sleeve of his tunic, Sam brushed away the cobwebs and thin layer of dust that had settled on the book spines lined up along the shelves, the ever-present weight of longing resting heavily upon his heart this day. He had not heard from his beloved Prince in far too long; not since the single letter he received in the midst of the winter months. With deep reluctance, Michael had made the decision to banish Lucifer from their kingdom, stripped of his titles and wealth to live out the rest of his days in exile. The decision had not been made lightly, according to Gabriel in his letter, but it had been for the best. As relieved as he was to know that the Silver-Tongued Viper would no longer torment his beloved village, Sam had a feeling that losing a brother—however wicked—must have been incredibly difficult for them.

Gabriel had apparently recovered beautifully from his wounds, and was up and about throughout Angel's Keep in a couple months' time. He had stated how he spent many a night falling asleep amongst the books Sam had left scattered throughout the library, fingers curled into the worn pages as he longed for his return. The letter, which Sam kept tucked beneath his pillow, had been written on elegant parchment and smelled of the sweet oils Gabriel used to comb through his hair. On the chilliest of nights, with Dean snoring away in the next bed over, Sam would find himself falling asleep with his nose pressed against the parchment, lost in memories.

It had been too long.

"I thought I would find you in here," Dean's gruff voice came from where he suddenly stood in the doorway, broad form blotting out the morning sunlight. His sandy hair had lengthened somewhat during the winter as well, sticking up higher from his skull, and the beard he sported looked far better on him than it did on Sam. The blue wool cloak he wore billowed around his ankles. "Do you need anything before I head to the stables?"

Sam shook his head, eyes cast down as his fingernails followed the grain on the top of his wooden desk. Normally, such quiet lethargy would have troubled his older brother, but Dean had grown to understand Sam's sadness.

After all, he was missing someone, as well.

"Oh, before I forget," Dean stepped into the shop, then, and reached back to pluck something out of his belt. Sam eyed him curiously. "A messenger came to the Inn this morning right after you left. He was from Angel's Keep, and he left something for you."

He plunked the object on the desk before Sam, who stared at it with arched brows whilst his heart began to batter violently against the inside of his ribcage. It looked very much like a book wrapped in layers of expensive white cloth. Stricken, Sam reached out and took it into his hands as though it would shatter if jostled too roughly, and began to unwrap it with increasingly trembling fingers. As the cloth slowly fell away, the book's cover was revealed to him. It had no title, and was bound in a leather so black it seemed to swallow up the beams of sunlight in the room. Two shimmering golden stripes ran along the top and bottom of the spine. It was incredibly new, as far as Sam could tell. There was absolutely no possible way that this came from the castle library.

He then opened it to the first page.

And gasped.

"What?" Dean stepped back as if afraid the book would somehow bite him. "What is it?"

It could not be.

Surely, he was seeing things.

"Sam? Sam, what does it say?"

The boy could hardly find his voice, he was shaking so. "T-The… The Stardust Prince, by Sam Winchester."

Dean could only stare. "…What?"

It was here. It was all here. Every word he had spoken on that fateful night when Gabriel lay close to death in his arms—words he, himself, had nearly forgotten—had been scrawled out in careful hand on the pages before him. A hand, Sam soon realized, that perfectly matched that on the crinkled letter he slept next to every night.

Gabriel…

"He wrote it…" Sam's vision blurred as he flipped through the pages, and he forced himself to snap the book shut lest his falling tears smear the ink. He held the book to his chest, embracing it as though he were holding the Prince, himself. All at once, the heavy weight that had spent so long crushing his chest suddenly lifted, filling Sam with a strength he thought long forgotten. He was elated. His every extremity was positively thrumming. "Dean, he turned my story for him, my words, into a book. A real book! I'm… I'm an author."

"And yet, you're still standing here," Dean shook his head with a grin. "Go."

Heart guiding him forward, Sam reached the door in three long strides, but hesitated just as the kiss of spring air brushed over his cheeks. He turned to lock eyes with his older brother. "Come with me."

"Why?"

Sam could only smile. "You know why."

Dean never did speak of his feelings for the young squire, no matter how often Sam would prod and pester for answers. Since that morn before the royals departed, Sam had known that something, however small, had blossomed between his brother and Castiel. It had been that look they had shared; the sheer spark of a connection that seemed to crackle in the air when their eyes had locked. It was undeniable. But Dean, ever the prideful little prat he was, would dismiss Sam's curiosity with a flick of his hand and refuse to divulge any details as to what on earth had gone on between them in the few short days that Castiel had stayed beneath their roof.

It must have been wonderful, given the way Dean's eyes flitted away, almost bashfully so. He scratched at the back of his neck. "Well, I… um…"

"If you'd rather remain here and muck the stalls like you had planned…"

That seemed to be enough motivation to force Dean passed Sam and out into the grey morning light. With haste, they fetched Impala from the stables, seeing no need to saddle and rein her when they would share the space of her back together. Dean mounted first—expertly so—his fingers curling into her luxurious mane while Sam climbed on right behind. With the book tucked under his arm, he latched onto his older brother's cloak for stability as the restless mare took off at a gallop beneath them.

They rode in silence, the wind sharp and misty as it combed through the dark tendrils of Sam's hair like the tender fingers of a lover. Impala's hooves splashed through stagnant puddles along the main road and kicked up mounds of wet earth until it spattered at their legs. Soft grey clouds drifted lazily as the sky grew bluer above them, while buds began their slow bloom on the tips of skeletal branches just barely missing their heads. The faintest hints of green could be seen on the distant hills. Life was beginning anew, and Sam had never before felt so at one with the world.

His heart had lain dormant for so long. He felt as if he had just burst into existence once more.

The drawbridge had already been lowered by the time they reached the entrance to the Keep, yet the portcullis still remained firmly shut, denying them passage. The very sight of that wretched iron gate forced memories of that terrible night to flicker in Sam's mind; images of Lucifer lurking like a rabid jackal beyond the twisted bars, of Gabriel ducking beneath them with his sword held at the ready. The boy shook his skull free of such thoughts just as a pair of guards appeared above on the curtain wall, crossbows drawn and chainmail glinting in the sunlight. The poison-tipped arrows they held were aimed toward the brothers with an eerie accuracy that made Sam swallow hard. Impala slowed to a cautious halt.

"Who goes there?" One shouted.

"Sam and Dean Winchester," Dean responded, rough voice blending with the sound of the nearby flags snapping in the wind. "We've come on the request of Prince Gabriel."

"Aye, have you a royal pardon, then?"

Dean blinked, turning just enough to eye Sam with confusion. "Uh…"

"And here I thought we had gotten rid of you," a familiar voice brought their gazes forward, and Sam smiled widely over Dean's shoulder as Balthazar appeared beyond the portcullis, the bars casting harsh shadows across the Captain's handsomely lined face. He looked just the same as ever. "Sam, I see you brought the mouthy one along this time."

"Hilarious." Dean bit out.

Balthazar chuckled heartily, before barking an order to the men above. Instantly, the familiar rumble of thunderous chains filled the spring air as the gate was slowly lifted, granting them entrance into the courtyard. With a click of his tongue, Dean urged Impala forward until her hooves sounded off almost melodically against the damp cobblestone. Sam took note of the way Dean's gaze wandered as they passed the threshold, of the way he took in the soaring white stone and magnificent towers. He watched, almost adoringly, as his brother's mouth fell open in utter wonder, like a child witnessing his first snowfall.

Dean had never been this close to the castle before.

"You lads look well," Balthazar stated as Sam clumsily dismounted. "I trust the winter had been a fair one to you."

"Only due to the generosity of the Prince," the boy said as he clapped onto the Captain's hand and shook firmly. "Speaking of… how is he?"

"Better than any of us thought he would be after what had happened, but his strength proved true, thank the Gods and your dear Aunt for that." Balthazar motioned to the soaring castle windows with a dismissive incline of his head. "As I take you've not visited for a little chat with me, I would get moving. The Prince is awaiting your arrival in his chambers."

"He knew I would come?" Sam's brows lifted into his hairline.

"He knows everything," Balthazar grinned, before turning his attentions to Dean. "You, however, will be staying with me."

Dean's gaze flickered warily in Sam's direction, before addressing the Captain. "Why?"

It was the gleam of sunlight striking a freshly-forged breastplate that caught Sam's eye, first, before the approach of strong, confident footfalls drew the attention of the other two men. No longer donned in the simple squire's garb, Castiel looked ever-the vision; broad and mighty, blue cloak billowing out from where it was pinned to one shoulder, armor shimmering as though the light from the very sun had been captured and stricken into the steel with each blow of the blacksmith's hammer. His hair was the same length it had always been, but the light dusting of beard that had once coated his squared jaw had grown, somewhat, dark and thick and making the newly-appointed Knight seem older than he was. When he stopped before the group, that shyness still had not left his eyes, especially as they locked onto Dean.

"As you can see, my loyal squire has gone and gotten himself a higher rank over the winter," Balthazar drawled, though the manner in which his chest expanded spoke nothing but sheer pride for the boy.

"I can see that," Dean spoke softly, and Sam noted the way his fingers curled into the palms at his sides, as though resisting the urge to reach out and touch the sight for himself.

"Every good Knight needs a squire, especially in the beginning," Balthazar continued, before placing one gloved hand onto Dean's shoulder. "How about it, lad? Want to show us what you can do?"

Dean's head whipped around with such force, it was a wonder his bloody neck didn't snap. "You… I… me? You want… me? To be a squire?"

"It was Castiel's idea," the Captain nodded once. "We are offering you a chance to prove your worth and your skills. Do that, and we shall take you in. You'll be at Castiel's side, learning from him and training with him at nearly all hours of the day. You will bring him his things and dress him in armor, you will ready his horse and carry his banner. Build yourself up, impress us, and you may one day find yourself donning some steel, as well."

If Balthazar had not kept his hand upon Dean's shoulder, Sam was certain his brother would have toppled over, for his knees trembled beneath the weight of him.

"Do you accept our offer?" It was not Balthazar who spoke these words, but Castiel, and the look shared between he and Dean could have rivalled a lightning strike.

"Yes," Dean's mouth split into a grin. "A thousand times, yes."

"Very good. I'll get the sparring swords," Balthazar glanced over at Sam. "Gods be good, lad, why are you still here? Off with you."

When Sam disappeared into the castle, his cheeks ached with the force of the smile that had stretched across them. Inside, the vast halls smelled of spice and wood smoke from the dozens of burning hearths, and the sun streaming in from the mighty windows forged a path of dappled colored light that led the boy up the winding staircase. Hefty boot strikes echoed loudly against the white stone floor as Sam climbed up the soaring tower toward the bedchambers, his heart pattering wildly behind the book he clutched close to his chest. Servants heaving freshly laundered bedclothes and linens scuffled passed without so much as a glance his way, and the torches crackled and popped loudly along the narrow stretch of hall.

Down at the very end, the cherry wood door had been left wide open, allowing a fire's glow to spill out in greeting. Every other moment, a shadow would pass across that stream of light, as though someone inside the room was pacing in front of the hearth.

Gabriel.

Sam quickened his pace when he came upon the bedchamber, fingers reaching out to grip onto the wooden doorjamb as though desperate to steady himself in the midst of his thrumming enthusiasm. Dark bangs swung with the momentum as he peered inside and caught sight of the Prince standing before the fire, clad in nothing but a pair of dark trousers. Loose tendrils of golden waves fell over his brow as he looked down into an open book in his hands. Breathless, Sam stared at the sight before him for… Gods, he didn't know how long. Hazel eyes softened with love admired the way the firelight danced along the sweeping curve of Gabriel's spine, trailing from the waves at the back of his neck down to the beltline of his breeches like the roaming hands of a lover. Before he knew it, Sam had stepped further into the Prince's chambers, breath fluttering passed barely-parted lips.

It had been so long...

"Are you just going to stand there and stare?" Gabriel's voice rang through the room like a silver bell, startling the boy out of his trance.

With a graceful sweep, the Prince at last turned, but it was not his face Sam's eyes locked onto first. It was the scar; long and jagged as it swept like a sash across the length of Gabriel's torso and down passed the beltline of his trousers. The color of dark plum wine and reminding Sam of the shape lightning took as it lit up the skies and struck the earth, the manner in which it had healed was miraculous, indeed. It only seemed to heighten the beauty of the Prince, who was staring at Sam with knowing golden eyes.

"Sam?" Gabriel's whisper was almost lost amongst the crackle of the nearby flames.

In three strides of his powerful legs, the boy suddenly crossed the room and swept Gabriel up into his arms as if he weighed no more than a child. Sighing wistfully, Gabriel all but collapsed against Sam's mouth, kissing fiercely as his hands came to cradle the boy's bearded jaw. Lithe legs curled around narrow hips and the sounds of soft laughter collided between their mouths.

"I see I've been missed," Gabriel mused with a grin. He purred and shut his eyes while Sam nuzzled against his throat, beard scratching at the skin, there. "Gods, you've gotten hairy. I feel as if I'm being ravished by a damned bear."

Sam drew back with a laugh and scrubbed a hand down his face. "I was far too eager to arrive, I didn't even think about shaving…"

"Hush," Gabriel smirked as his arms locked themselves around the boy's neck. He pressed their foreheads together. "Keep it. It's given me many a wild idea, most of them having to do with the sensation of beard burn between my thighs."

The boy felt warmth bloom across his entire body, and Gabriel tossed his head back with the kind of laugh Sam had once thought he'd never hear again. With one broad hand to support the Prince, Sam held up the book he had been carrying, a familiar burn of emotion brimming in his eyes at the sight of its deep black bindings.

"You did this for me?" He asked the Prince in a breath. "You… you put my words in a real book? Wrote them down yourself?"

"Of course." Gabriel nodded.

"Why?"

"Because they belong there," was the response as the Prince wriggled free of Sam's grip and dropped down to the floor with a dull thud. He took the book into his own hands, now, drawing the cover up and placing a lingering kiss to it as his eyes briefly fell closed. "These words saved me in a moment of certain death. They were my strength, my tether to life. They touched me and stuck with me in a way that no other book in the entirety of this Kingdom has, and I wanted nothing more than to preserve them, and hope that one day someone else will be as moved by your words as I am." Their eyes locked. "We will put this in the castle library, along with any other stories you come up with in the future, and the world will come to know the brilliance of Sam Winchester's mind. You will be legendary."

"I don't deserve that…" the boy shook his head, though his joy could not be hidden as a smile crept onto his face.

Reaching up, Gabriel wove fingers through the back of Sam's lush hair and drew him down for a kiss. "No matter how many times you say you don't deserve the things I do for you, I'm going to keep giving you the world," he murmured against the boy's mouth. "Now, shall we make this official and place your first book on one of the library shelves?"

Sam could almost feel his hazel eyes glaze over. "Not yet," he breathed as he drew the book from the Prince's grip. As Gabriel regarded him curiously, the boy moved across the room and heaved the mighty chamber door shut with a deep and resonating boom. The iron latch clicked loudly into place, and Sam heard Gabriel's low chuckle of understanding from where he stood. He set the book gently onto a table. "We're not done in here."

"Oh?" Gabriel was leaning back against one of the elaborately carved wooden bedposts, head lulled to the side and a few golden tendrils of hair falling against his brow in that casual elegance few could achieve.

Sam could see the way the Prince's breath began to quicken as he approached, and his broad shadow swallowed up Gabriel's entire form until the only place the firelight touched him was in the reflection of his amber eyes. Large hands lifted to settle upon that angular jaw, and the boy watched as Gabriel's lips fell open, tongue curling against the roof of his mouth as though he were salivating with the anticipation of what was to come. Sam smirked down at him.

"You realize it is against the law for a commoner to look down upon royalty?" Gabriel breathed, and Sam recalled him uttering those very same words in the first few moments of their meeting all those months ago.

"Shall I get on my knees then?" Sam asked, brow arching.

The slow, wicked smile that stretched across Gabriel's face could have set the bloody castle alight with flame. His voice was a low growl that resonated from deep within his scarred chest. "Bow before your Prince."

Oh, and Sam did. Without breaking eye-contact, the boy lowered himself to the chamber floor, hands lifting from where they rested against Gabriel's face and traveling downward. Slow—oh, so achingly slow—did those broad palms and long, deft fingers explore the plains of his Prince's body, following the raised flesh of the scar. Sam's mouth and nose barely feathered against the softness of Gabriel's stomach, and he exhaled softly when a pair of hands buried themselves into his mop of chestnut waves. He placed a kiss upon each of the Prince's hipbones, before setting his mouth on the soft, blonde trail of hair that disappeared beneath the beltline of his trousers, suckling marks onto the skin while his beard scratched and tickled at the moist patches left behind. God's above, he was warm, and smelled of a faint sweet spice that could only be cinnamon.

"Mmm, I could get quite used to the sight of you down—" Gabriel's sentence cut off with a sharp gasp as Sam cupped him through the fabric of his breeches, palming the thick length as it began to harden with each passing moment.

"Pardon?" Sam could not help but chuckle as his fingers quickly worked the ties of Gabriel's trousers open, exposing him to the warm chamber air when the fabric at last fell away, allowing the Prince to step freely out of them. "I didn't quite catch that last part."

"You're truly wicked, Sam Winchester." Gabriel said through gritted teeth, while blunt-tipped fingers rubbed circles into the boy's scalp.

"And you're truly beautiful," Sam responded as he took in the sight of his Prince, bare as the day his mother birthed him; eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted, chest rising and falling with quickening breath. Utterly magnificent. "Now, shut up and let me worship you."

If the Prince had another snarky remark planned, it certainly never had the chance to escape his lips; voice cracking through a long moan as Sam suddenly brushed his lips against him. It filled the boy with elation, knowing that with naught but the faintest petal-soft touch, he could have Gabriel clutching onto the back of his hair as though it was his last remaining lifeline. Sam grinned wickedly and exhaled against the Prince's sensitive crown, before ever-so-slowly slipping his lips over the glistening surface, tongue swirling and dipping into the slit on the very tip. He watched Gabriel's stomach twitch, saw him shift his weight between his trembling legs as if unsure which one would keep him upright longer. And so, Sam pushed on, refusing to cease until the head of the Prince's arousal nudged the very back of his throat, and he swallowed around it.

"S-Sam, please…" Gabriel's voice wavered through a soft groan, and it only made the heat bubbling in the boy's veins burn hotter, searing him from the inside out. Gods above, his voice when he begged. "More… Please, more."

But Sam disobeyed, tongue swirling as he drew back and released the Prince with a loud wet pop, admiring the way the firelight reflected off the moisture beading on the crown. One large hand lifted to curl around the thick base, and Sam stroked steadily before lifting the shaft just enough to glide his tongue up the underside, inhaling deeply and savoring that gorgeous musky scent. The Prince cursed under his breath. Through his dark lashes, Sam studied the way Gabriel looked, head angled back against the bedpost, eyes closed and teeth raking against his bottom lip. The firelight seemed to kiss every angle of the Prince's face; from that jutted jaw to his dimpled nose, to his glorious luscious mouth housing the sharp tongue that could both cut and ensnare.

"Look at me." Sam softly ordered, and his breath caught as those honey-warm eyes lowered and locked onto his.

That gaze spoke a thousand promises of lust and longing and love, sending Sam's heart soaring up through the rafters and into the very heavens. With his free hand, the boy softly caressed Gabriel's trembling stomach, tracing each dip, angle, and curve. Gabriel's fingers, which had been lost in the thick tangle of Sam's hair, loosened their grip before dropping down to cradle Sam's bearded face, holding him as if he were utterly precious. Sam couldn't help but smirk, especially as the Prince's serene expression melted away when the boy took him into his mouth once more, maintaining eye-contact all the while. His own arousal strained painfully within his breeches, but Sam would not touch himself just yet; intent on focusing his attention on bringing Gabriel to the very peak of white hot bliss.

It was then that the Prince began to move, hips unhinging themselves and pumping slowly, making love to Sam's warm, wet mouth. The boy groaned deeply, voice vibrating against Gabriel's hot flesh as it struck the back of his throat over and over. He hollowed out his cheeks and sucked deeply, watching as Gabriel's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his golden hair clung to the sweat blooming on his brow. Still, he cradled Sam's face.

"Gods… Sam, I'm not going to last…"

Suddenly, Sam drew back from the Prince and rose to his full, towering height. He closed one hand around Gabriel and squeezed, eliciting a sharp gasp from the Prince as he was pinned back against the bedpost.

"Not yet…" he growled, breath fluttering the hair around Gabriel's ear. "Not until I'm inside of you."

He could hear Gabriel chuckle through gritted teeth as he was manoeuvred over to the grand bed. The Prince fell back onto the wide expanse of velvet and fur, golden hair fanning out against the mountain range of fabrics like the glow of a halo, and pale skin catching the firelight. Sam found himself licking his lips with the wild hunger of a wolf as he drank in the beauty before him. Oh, Gabriel knew exactly what he was doing as he lay there like a feast for the boy, mischief dancing in those lustful eyes, arousal thick and leaking against his soft stomach.

"I could devour you…" Sam whispered as he slowly began to undress before the Prince.

As each layer was slowly peeled from his body, Sam made sure to make a show of it; fingers working idly, almost lazily at the clasps and ties, wanting to tease and draw out Gabriel's impatience. He kicked off his boots and threw off his cloak, before working the strings at the collar of his tunic loose enough to grasp the hem and lift it from his torso. He felt the warmth from the blazing hearth touch the rolling muscles of his bare back, and yet it was no match to the searing hot stare of the Prince upon that bed. Sam would not be surprised if smoke began to build on the surface of his flesh, as the touch of those amber eyes was like a brand; marking, claiming. The look only intensified when, at last, the boy's breeches loosened and dropped to the chamber floor.

"On the mantle above the hearth there are bottles of oil." Gabriel purred as he stroked the tips of his fingers across his own stomach. "Fetch the one with the jeweled top, and come here. Now."

Once Sam had done as commanded, he returned to Gabriel's waiting arms. The bottle of oil was cool in the palm of his hand as he crawled up onto the bed, broad form looming as it caged the Prince in. The downy mattress sank beneath their combined weight, and the blankets were warm and luscious against the bare flesh of his thighs. Gabriel's smile was nothing short of extraordinary as he tangled fingers through the hair at the back of Sam's neck and drew him down until their mouths crashed together; and that grin only widened when the boy felt the sudden warmth of fingers curling around his aching length. Sam gasped fiercely into the kiss, hips thrusting forward into the familiar friction of that palm.

"Mine…" Gabriel's possessive growl was sweeter than any pastry on Sam's tongue.

"Mmm…" the boy broke the kiss first, before nuzzling his mouth to the shell of Gabriel's ear. He felt gooseflesh rise on every patch of skin he pressed into. "Turn over."

With a soft hum, Gabriel did as bade, rolling over onto his stomach to expose the lovely sweeping curve of his spine. The firelight played across the softly muscled plains so beautifully that Sam could not resist dropping a lingering kiss to the twin dimples on his lower back. Straddling the back of the Prince's thighs, the boy worked the jeweled lid of the bottle open, expecting a sweet scent to waft up from within—much like in the oils Gabriel enjoyed brushing into his hair—but none came. Though the deep blue glass of the bottle was cool to the touch, the oil dripped warmly against the boy's callused fingers, and a rivulet trickled over his wrist bone and down the thickness of his forearm. Sam stared between his glistening fingers and the arch of Gabriel's back, and suddenly felt his heart slam against the inside of his ribcage. His mouth went dry.

"I've never done this before," he blurted softly, and immediately felt like a bloody oaf the moment the words tumbled passed his lips.

Gods…

Gabriel sat up on his elbows and eyed the boy over his shoulder in that way of his; the way that made Sam feel as though he was being peeled open bit by bit, exposing his deepest vulnerabilities to the world. Even after all this time, it still made Sam's breath catch.

"Would you like to stop?" Gabriel asked, and his voice was filled with unimaginable kindness.

"N-No! No… I just…" Sam felt his earlier confidence beginning to dwindle. "I'm unsure of how to do this properly. I'm afraid of hurting you."

"You won't," the Prince reassured him softly. "I will not lie and tell you I will feel no pain at first, but that is what the oil is for. To ease it for the both of us. Trust me when I say the pleasure will far outweigh any discomfort. Just be slow, one finger at a time, and all will be well."

The boy was eased by Gabriel's words, even as he felt his mouth twist. "You speak as though you've had many lovers."

"Only a couple."

Sam remained quiet. To think there had been others that had seen that body arcing off the bed, tasted the groans rolling off that tongue, stared into those eyes as the highest pleasure was reached…

Damn them to all seven hells.

"My goodness, you're a jealous one. I can see it in your eyes; the way you're trying to convince yourself not to sink your teeth and nails into my body to mark me as your own." Gabriel's amber gaze was like the crackle of nearby lightning; searing hot and forcing every last hair on Sam's body to stand on end. His lips parted, and that wicked pink tongue swiped at his lower lip. He wasn't wrong. Not by any means.

Gods, how Sam wished he could do just that.

"Come here," Gabriel extended a beckoning hand and Sam leaned forward willingly, forcing the Prince to crane his neck back just enough to press a slow, luxurious kiss to his mouth. Sam was almost certain Gabriel could feet his heart pattering where his chest met the Prince's shoulder blades. "No one on this good earth has been able to shine their light into my darkest corners like you have, Sam Winchester. There has never been another sun to my stars. Just you. Only you."

Sam made a soft sound and deepened the kiss with a low and resonating, "I love you."

"I love you t—" the phrase came to a startling halt when Sam pushed one slickened finger inside the Prince, the tail end of his sentence forming into a long resounding moan that echoed off the chamber walls.

The boy watched, breathless, as Gabriel bowed his head forward until his voice was muffled by the blankets, and Sam dipped down to place a single kiss to the exposed skin at the back of his neck. The Prince's legs visibly quivered whilst hands desperately clutched onto the fabric beneath them. The air left Sam's lungs in a shaky rush as his one finger curled deeply into the searing heat of Gabriel's body, pumping slow and steady while the boy intently searched for any signs of discomfort or pain from his lover. Gabriel, on the other hand, was an utter writhing mess upon the bed, voice catching and hips rising from the mattress to press back against Sam's hand as if he ached for more than what he was being given. When a second oiled finger was added, they both groaned in unison, and Sam leant forward to nuzzle his face in the crook between Gabriel's soft neck and shoulder.

"So warm." Sam breathed against his skin. "So tight."

"S-Sam," Gabriel practically choked out. "Gods, please…"

"Shh…" A third finger pushed deep inside, joining the rhythmic pump of the others, and Sam revelled in the sounds Gabriel made as he made contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves inside him nearly every time. "Listen to you… the sounds you make for me, for a simple peasant boy. I bet I can make you reach your end just like this, with my fingers pushing in deep and my voice in your ear. I bet you'd cry out my name, wouldn't you?"

The pleasure was thick in Gabriel's voice. He nearly sobbed. "Y-Yes… yes, Sam please. Please… I cannot take it anymore."

"Do you want me inside of you, my Prince?" Sam bit down on the curve of Gabriel's shoulder, pulling a sharp hiss from him.

"Y-Yes."

"Say it… I want to hear you say it."

Gabriel's arm suddenly extended backward, and Sam felt five fingers ball into a fist at the back of his hair and yank hard enough to leave the boy gasping. Gravel rattled in the Prince's breathless voice. "Get… get on your back. I want you inside me, and I am going to ride you until you can no longer remember your name, Sam Winchester, just as I promised."

It was Sam's turn to fill the chamber with a soft and heady groan. Long fingers slipped gently from the welcoming heat of Gabriel's body before he rolled over and landed upon the plush blankets with a gentle thump, lips stretched in a smile that revealed the dimples upon his cheeks. With pupils blown wide, he watched as the Prince crawled over his body like a predatory beast, the ends of his golden hair tickling at Sam's warm skin as he placed the softest kisses across the solid expanse of his stomach. The boy felt himself twitch at how close Gabriel's mouth was to the aching length of flesh rested against his abdomen, and a rush of air left his mouth in a trembling whimper as he felt the softest breath ghost across his wet crown.

The blue bottle was in Gabriel's hands, now. Sam shivered the very moment those wicked fingers began to coat the length of his arousal until it glistened slickly in the crackling firelight. Shoulders rolling, Sam rested his arms above his head and released a blissful sigh. It would have been so easy to lose himself this way; eyelashes fluttering, the scent of wood smoke and sweat and Gabriel's skin lingering in the air, and the sensation of his Prince's hands kneading and stroking at him until starlight twinkled behind his closed eyes.

Gods… he was utterly lost in it. So lost, in fact, that Sam barely noticed the way Gabriel straddled his lap until the Prince roughly whispered,

"Watch me."

The boy's eyes flew open, and the sight before him was enough to falter his breathing.

Hands hungry, Sam reached desperately for Gabriel, broad palms falling to settle upon narrow hips, fingers pressing into hot skin until he was certain that the Prince would carry those bruises for days to come. Gabriel was breathing deeply, steadily above him, as if easing his body to relax as the oiled head of Sam's arousal brushed against his waiting entrance. Sam could feel his heart collide with his ribcage with such force, it was a shock the bones didn't splinter with each impact. His face flushed, his breathing quickened with the anticipation of it all. It was too much.

Gabriel seemed to have noticed, for he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers down Sam's bearded jaw. The love swimming through his eyes was startling.

"Are you alright?" the Prince whispered.

Sam swallowed hard. "I cannot believe you're mine."

Gabriel's smile was slow and touched the very corners of his amber eyes. The expression held, even as the Prince sunk down to at last take Sam into his body.

Oh… the sheer heat and pressure was extraordinary. Sam felt himself break through the tight ring of muscle and bury every last inch of himself deep inside his Prince, mouth falling open in a silent cry. Gabriel, however, made a sound unlike any Sam had heard before, and he stilled himself once he was seated flush against the boy's lap, trembling as he waited for his body to adjust to the girth that had invaded it. The Prince took Sam's hand from his hip, then, and pressed a solid kiss to his knuckles.

"Yours," he whispered. "Only yours."

Mouth still pressed to the backs of Sam's fingers, Gabriel began to move, hips rocking until the mattress swayed and the wooden bedposts creaked around them. Sam felt as though lightning crackled just beneath his skin, eyes rolling back into his head while the fingers of his free hand kneaded the muscles of Gabriel's supple thigh. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before; the connection fierce and wild and burning hotly like molten steel in his veins. Teeth gritted, the boy arced his hips up and met each of Gabriel's movements with one of his own, striking deep into that heat over and over until the Prince's moans filled the room. The sight of him, flushed and breathless as golden tresses matted themselves to his sweat-slicked brow, forced Sam to sit up and latch his mouth onto the gorgeous column of Gabriel's throat.

"S-Sam…" Gabriel groaned, voice vibrating against the boy's tongue.

The boy could not answer, mind clouded over in a storm of lust and hunger and primal passion, whilst lips and teeth abused the skin of Gabriel's clavicle until fresh markings bloomed upon it. He felt the Prince throw his arms around him, and the sharp sting of fingernails tearing desperately at the skin of his shoulder blades only quickened Sam's thrusts. Sam reached between them and grasped hold of Gabriel's swollen arousal, stroking him in time with the movement of their joined bodies. Neither of them would last much longer; the boy was sure of it, for he could feel that familiar coil begin to tighten itself deep in the pits of his abdomen.

With his free hand, Sam cradled the Prince's face and forced their eyes to lock. The sweat beaded on Gabriel's skin caught the firelight, making him seem as though he was made of the stars, themselves.

"You are the light of my life," Sam breathed, voice catching when Gabriel ceased his feverish bouncing and begin rolling his hips in slow, sensual circles. "M-My Stardust Prince."

Gabriel's fingers tangled through the back of his hair before drawing the boy into a tender kiss that sent Sam's mind reeling more than anything ever could. The Prince was close; he could tell from the quickening whimpers pouring into his mouth, and Sam drank down the sound of Gabriel's sharp cry when, at last, he spilled himself in hot, thick streams across the boy's hand and stomach. Moments later did Sam follow suite, milked by the erratic clenching of Gabriel's body, and he groaned loudly before emptying himself deep inside. The Prince soothed him through the ebbs and throes as their bodies writhed together in the afterglow, lips brushing kisses against Sam's temple, all the while murmuring three little words like a chant—no, like a prayer to the very heavens.

"I love you… I love you… I love you…"

___________________________________________________________________________________________

"Are you finished yet?"

Gabriel's voice rang out through the vast silence of the castle library, and yet there was hardly a response, save for the soft scuffle of Sam clunking about between the shelves in search for the perfect place to house his precious first book. The Prince huffed a soft chuckle into the cup of warm cider he held cradled within his hands, and the softest spring breeze wafted in from the open window at his back to card through the waves of his hair and leave a pleasant shiver running down the length of his spine. Amongst the sounds of wood popping and crackling within the mighty stone hearth, there was a distant clamor of clashing steel from the courtyard down below. He waited patiently, the blissful ache of lovemaking still lingering in every one of his limbs, until at last Sam emerged from betwixt the shelves with a satisfied grin.

"Well that took ages," Gabriel teased.

"I was being picky," Sam admitted bashfully as he crossed the library with a few swift strides of his long legs. The boy was bare from the waist up, as Gabriel was currently sporting the tunic he had arrived in. "I found the perfect spot, though, amongst the group of books I sold you when we first met."

"How sentimental you are."

"Hush," Sam laughed as he leaned down to drop a sweet kiss to the Prince's bare shoulder, where the oversized tunic had slipped loose and fallen partway down his arm.

Gabriel purred and tugged his lover closer, so that he could taste the sweetness the cider had left upon his tongue. Sam's blissful little sigh into the kiss left Gabriel grinning. "I want to show you something," said the Prince. "Come here."

He drew Sam over to the open window, and gestured down to the source of the commotion below. Pressing firmly to Gabriel from behind, Sam lay his head upon the Prince's shoulder and peered down at the two figures in the courtyard, eyes lighting up with instant recognition. With naught but the light of the moon and the nearby torches to illuminate their makeshift battleground, Dean and Castiel were swinging wildly at each other, the sharp strikes of their sparring swords singing out into the late night air.

"Have they been going at it all bloody day?" Gabriel arched a brow.

"Most likely," Sam smiled fondly, his warm hands slipping beneath the tunic Gabriel wore to caress his soft stomach. "Given how desperately my brother has wanted this all his life, he won't allow this moment to cease until he all but collapses from exhaustion."

As if on cue, there was a gentle 'oof' from below, and they both looked over to see Dean splayed flat on the ground, chest heaving while his sword skittered across the cobblestone from Castiel knocking it out of his hand. The newly-appointed knight loomed over the stable boy like a shadow, moonlight glinting off the blade he clutched. The manner in which the wind caught the cloak at his back gave the lad the briefest illusion of possessing mighty black wings, like the creatures found on every tapestry throughout Angel's Keep. Gabriel watched as Castiel extended a hand to haul Dean back onto his feet, and the stable boy's exhausted laughter filled the night when he staggered forward and collided clumsily right into the knight's armored chest.

The fact that Castiel did not draw away from the sudden closeness sent Gabriel's eyebrows lifting curiously into his hairline. In fact, he could have almost sworn the knight was resting his hands upon Dean's hips, keeping him in place. It was dark this night, no doubt, but the flickering orange light from the torches was enough to catch the manner in which Dean tilted his head just enough to gaze down at the young knight, and Gabriel wished he could read his expression. Was it the same strange curiosity in his eyes? Or fondness? Longing, perhaps, for he did not draw away?

He received the answer to his question when Castiel rose up just enough to hesitantly press their mouths together.

"I knew it…" Sam grinned.

Dean's hands were in Castiel's hair, now, and the clatter of steel striking stone meant that the knight had dropped his sword in order to throw his arms around his new squire and kiss him with everything he had.

"My, my," Gabriel smirked. "Inspiration for your new book, perhaps?"

"Perhaps…" Sam breathed as he nuzzled into the crook of Gabriel's neck. "Once I'm finished writing a thousand stories about you."

"A thousand? Goodness, was I really that good in bed?"

The boy laughed and tightened his embrace upon Gabriel before saying, "Come inside by the fire. I'm going to read to you."

Following Sam back into the warmth of the library, fingers entwined, Gabriel knew he had never before known a happiness such as this.

The stars would have to be snuffed from the sky before he ever let it go.

THE END


End file.
